Loving It
by Whyntir
Summary: Alfred Bonnefoy is in love with Ivan Braginsky, a young new teacher from the USSR. Despite how accepting most of the other students are, problems lurk everywhere and all the young American wants is to live happily ever after. As if it would be that easy.
1. Chapter One: Acceptance

**A/N: This IS set in the 50's, but I am taking creative liberties with this since homosexuality was looked down upon even MORE than it is today, but I'll be making it seem fairly normal. So, yeah, writer's liberties. Yay for me~!**

* * *

_Alfred ground his teeth as his landing boat made its way from the battleship to the beach. He knew that once he landed, there was a very good chance he'd never see his family again. He turned to look at his brother, who looked back to him with that apprehension and worry. This was in their blood, war and death. It flowed through them like the rapid waters of the Niobara River. The boat jerked violently as it beached._

"_Go! Go! Go!" the signal was shouted as the ramp collapsed, "Stay low! They got nests waiting for you!"_

_Alfred and Matthew looked into the eyes of the other with an intimacy that only brothers had. Their hands clasped together, promising each other for better or for worse. They were brothers and would always be together, no matter what. Then they ran to the beach that could have easily been called hell, bodies fell all around as they made it to cover. He could hear someone screaming as they were torn apart by a machine gun. An aeroplane zoomed overhead, dropping a deadly bomb on the nest that made an effort to kill the hero. The bomb fell and exploded the obstacle. He waved to the plane in gratitude before continuing farther up the beach. He shot at the Nazis coming towards him; they fell and died on impact, not overdramatic like in the flicks he used to watch._

_He turned to find his brother to see him a ways below him, making his way slowly upward when suddenly a stray he had missed stood up and shot Matthew. Alfred opened his mouth to scream his brother's name-._

* * *

Then his alarm went off.

* * *

Exclaiming in surprise, the blonde fell off his bed and onto the ground. His head spun as he tried to figure out where the ceiling was, and where his floor could be. Sure, it could be obvious he was on the ground, but who would want to miss the chance of something falling up (especially if it was himself)! Once he determined he was, in fact, on his carpet, he groaned and stood up. Rubbing the back of his head, he twisted his neck and was returned with a satisfying crack. He sighed, shaking his dream out of his head. That had been, like, ten years ago. There were no more Nazis.

He slipped pants over his undergarments (and sleepwear) and, being the teenaged boy he was, simply pulled a brown jacket over a white buttoned up shirt that he wore the day before. Hey, boys will be boys, right? Dad would complain though, why was he so . . . so . . . old school? Was that the word he was looking for?

"Alfred! Are you awake!" his dad called from down the stairs. It was kind of annoying how he babied him, "School's today, remember!"

Oh yeah, that was why that horrible machine woke him up. Damn it. He hated Mondays. And he was getting a new world history teach as the rumors said. After the first one quit (Like he had no idea why!) they were stuck with an extremely strict sub that was no fun at all. Also, his anatomy teacher had pulled out because of some injuries suffered in a car accident, so he'd be stuck with two newbies. He just really hoped these people were creative and interesting and easy to sway so he could pull his grades out of the hole.

He ran down the stairs with his backpack in his arm. He'd need to eat something and brush his teeth, then find his shoes that went . . . somewhere. He ran past his dad who was sitting at the dining table with the newspaper and tea. Alfred bumped the table with his bag and the teacup rattled dangerously.

"Alfred!" the Englishman snapped, "Watch what your doing. You got five minutes before your father gets home to take you and Matthew to school." His dad paused, "Isn't that what you wore yesterday?"

Alfred blinked owlishly, guilty written all over his face, "Nooooo~."

"Oh for the love of God Alfred, I _know_ I bought you more than a simple white shirt and pair of slacks! Put some real clothes on!"

"Okay, I will," he whined, placing waffles into the toaster, "_After_ I get some breakfast."

He ate his food slowly, as was his plan. Yes, he knew how to pull this one off. He downed his milk just as he heard the car horn out front. Matthew jumped down the stairs lazily, long done before Alfred ever stepped out of his room while the American dashed to the bathroom, used his finger as a toothbrush, and ran out the door after snatching his bag with the call of "Bye Dad!"

"Alfred! You didn't- oh blast. That boy is going to be the death of me," Arthur muttered dangerously. That would _not_ happen again, and to make that truth, he marched into the boy's room. This was the last time Alfred pulled something like this, oh would that boy be surprised when he got home.

Francis smiled as he two boys ran to the car . . . well, one ran. Alfred was such a naughty rascal, probably running from their dad. Matthew, on the other hand, was sweet and quiet, nothing like his older twin; even if it was only by an hour that Alfred claimed the seat of eldest. He looked from his sweet son sitting next to him, to his overly-energetic one in the back. "No one is forgetting anything, right? No missing homework, because I have errands to run and you dad is going to be at work. No missing socks and-slash-or shoes, right _Alfred_? And we're all set."

Alfred huffed angrily, yeah, sure, he forgot he didn't have shoes on when he hopped into the car and had to go through his first three periods in bare feet. C'mon, that wasn't as bad as middle school when he forgot his pants! Though he would die before mentioning _that_ incident, his Papa would go on about it all day and even tell random strangers! Jeez, why did his Papa have to be French? That was just horrible, wasn't there some law that forbade intermarriage between the English and French?

"Alfred?" Matthew asked, turning to his brother in the back seat. Mattie was shy and skittish, almost a complete opposite of Alfred . . . _almost_. Once he got used to a situation or person, damn was he snarky (Such a kookie word: Snarky).

He looked up from his library book he had been _meaning_ to read over break and smiled, "Yeah?"

"Are you worried about the new teachers?"

"Naw," he laughed, "I'll totally have them wrapped around my finger like no tomorrow."

Francis chuckled from the drivers seat, "Ah _mon petit _Alfred, you think just as I did at your age."

"_DAD!_" Alfred shouted, jumping up, his book flying to the seat beside him, "I didn't mean it like _THAT_!"

"But Alfred, you said-."

"NOT LIKE THAT!"

* * *

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Alfred was practically in tears from embarrassment. Why was his father such a Frenchy! He jumped out of the backseat and slammed the door shut. It was January, so just after Winter Break and still cold. He buried his blushing face into his red, white, and blue striped scarf, hopefully no one would notice. Ha-ha, yeah, like he'd be able to pull that one off. After his Papa drove off, he was tackled onto the cold concrete of the courtyard while the other students attempted to avoid them. Yeah, like he thought. Gilbert laughed exuberantly at Alfred's face. Oh yeah, he got him that time! He looked like he was about to . . . cry?

Alfred pushed the retarded boy off of him, "What the hell man! Give me a heart attack, or perhaps my brains splattered on the concrete is good for you!"

"Awe, c'mon, you aren't this prissy after getting tackled to the dirt . . . usually. What's got your panties in a twist?" Gilbert cackled. Matthew simply frowned at the German (No, Prussian, he insisted on being _Prussian_, whatever) with his arms crossed. Seriously, Mattie and Gil were, like, BFFs since kindergarten, but the albino was too much sometimes.

"Yeah," Alfred snapped, "That's on the field you nosebleed!"

"Papa was making fun of him."

"Ooh," Gilbert acknowledged, "Makes perfect sense. Did he find out about that one night stand or-."

"OH GOD! No! And how many times must I repeat that NOTHING HAPPENED!"

Gilbert laughed even louder (if that was humanly possible). Luckily, in Alfred's mind, he started choking on air. Only Gilbert could pull _that_ one off. When he did catch his breath and Matthew helped both of them to their feet, Gilbert smirked. "So what did your old man make fun of you for this time?"

"N-Nothing," that stutter was totally from the cold. Note-to-self: thin shirt in the middle of winter equals BAD IDEA. Okay, maybe his dad had a point in his wanting him to change. At least his pants were nice and warm.

Matthew snickered (cue snarky mode), "He was talking about how he'd butter up the new teachers and Papa took it the wrong way."

"Dude," Gilbert frowned with his arms crossed (and he totally popped a hip, no denying it!), "The new _Teacher_ is in my dad's office right now. He's filling in both positions. Don't have a cow over it man. He's a total fream."

Gilbert's dad, Mr. Ludwig Beilschmidt, was the dean of the school, also the founder of it. As cool as it was, the guy was pretty scary, even for high-schoolers. Luckily (and sadly), Alfred's dad, Arthur, knew Ludwig from their own school days and the two got along alright. Though that couldn't be said for his Papa Francis, the two had very tense conversations due to someone hitting on some one else's significant other (no names shall be mentioned). Thanks to these "Higher connections" Alfred and Matthew got into the school without waiting years on the list, it _was_ a charter-public school after all. Anyone could come in, but there was a waiting list and if the students didn't have a 2.0 GPA by their junior year, they were asked to be removed.

"Really?" Alfred raised an eyebrow with a devil's grin. Before he could continue, the bell rang. And look at that, he had _anatomy_ first period. He grinned like a Cheshire cat and hefted his bag on his shoulder, "Alright-y then. I guess I best be off to anatomy then. See you later alligator." He dashed off while his brother waved him off. Once he rounded the courner, Gilbert broke out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Matthew inquired innocently, but he could guess.

Gilbert caught his breath, "Alfred is in for the shock of his life."

"Why?"

"You'll see," he sang before grabbing the other boy's arm, "Come on, we'll be late for science."

* * *

Alfred jumped into the room before the final bell finished ringing. He smirked and looked up to see . . . nothing. No teacher. Seriously! And he ran all the way here to be on time for the _teacher_ to be late! Oh, well, fuck it all, he could have taken his time and not had any issues! He huffed and made his way to the front row, his seat being _directly_ in front of the previous teacher's desk. He saw that the new teacher already personalized it with a pencil holder and a stack of papers. Such fascinating choices, in this sense he took after his Papa. He read people through their sense of design and fashion (though with a mad lack of teacher, he couldn't very well tell anything about his clothing). What he got so far: Simple, a conservative person who was all about business and quite impersonal. Most teachers had picture frames and such on their desks and stuff, but this one had nothing of sentential value.

The children were talking, reading, drawing; anything they usually couldn't or wouldn't do with a teacher around. This all went quiet almost immediately when the door opened and Mr. Beilschmidt walked in, followed by another man who looked younger and was taller by a good three inches. Alfred immediately latched onto the newcomer. He had ashen blonde, almost white hair and deep violet eyes that seemed to change in shades from lavender to almost indigo. They reminded him vaguely of his brother's eyes, but Mattie had gray-blue eyes that reflected as violet-ish. He wore a beige scarf that trailed down to the back of his knees, and that was lot seeing as how it was wrapped twice around his neck and in relation ho how tall he was. It looked hand-made, though he didn't know how to assess that.

This teacher also wore a long beige trench coat (there was no other way to describe it). Now that screamed something to him: "Outsider". Men didn't wear such light colours to work, maybe casually, but not on the job. He didn't even wear a hat, which was _extremely_ abnormal . . . then again, who was he to talk. It was a little weird to have two dads, but that he did. What caught Alfred's attention though was how nervous he looked. He actually did seem odd, almost foreign. Okay, really foreign, he didn't know how to describe it though.

Mr. Beilschmidt stepped to the front of the class with his new employee trailing behind. The other children didn't let his unusual attire just fly over their heads either. Ludwig was the epitome of a man. He wore a charcoal suit with a matching hat and a black tie to match his shoes. It looked really smart on him with his corn silk blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He was a man they all looked up to, seeing as he fought in the Pacific Theatre during the last Great War and proved himself a true American (though being German born, but like hell he was no damn Nazi, and even mention it to Gil and you were just cruisin' for a bruisin').

"Good morning students," Mr. Beilschmidt addressed them, cutting through Alfred's thoughts, "I am here to introduce your new teacher, Mr. Braginsky. Before I go, I want to lay down some rules and simple truths." No one groaned, though Alfred knew they normally would have. It's just that Ludwig had that certain gleam in his eyes that warned them if they tried anything, or even complained, then they were in for it. Sort of like Hitler's pictures now that he thought about it. Mr. Beilschmidt would make a perfect Nazi, in the S.S. Uniform and everything, a gun cocked on his shoulder. That scar he had above his left eye was a perfect touch.

"I will not condone _any_ misbehavior from this class or any others. I know what is going on in the world currently, I am not ignorant. With that said, I expect you to treat Mr. Braginsky as you treat me: with due respect and understanding. I am a German, but you do not discriminate me for what has happened in the past decade, I expect the same show of conduct for your teacher. Is that understood?"

"Yes Mr. Beilschmidt," the class sang, though they really didn't understand what it was about.

"Good," he responded curtly, "I'll leave the rest of the introduction to you Mr. Braginsky. Good day everyone." With that, he strode out, closing the door behind him, once the dean was gone, the class turned stiffly back to their new teacher, who still seemed nervous, but had a sense of authority about him.

"Good morning," he said with a lilt to his speech that none of them had heard before. He rolled his 'R's briefly. It was a very smooth accent however, "I hope to get to know you all much better. Since today is my first day, and you have already studied some material, I would like to take today to know what you have already gone over and to know my students better. As such, I find it only fair to allow you to ask me whatever you want in return. How does that sound?"

There were murmurs of approval and a few nodding heads. To others it signaled a snooze period, so they lay their heads down and tried to pile up Z's. The teacher then did something they hadn't really expected a teacher to do, in, like, ever! He sat on his desk. Like, 'screw the chair', jumps on desk. It puzzled a few of the students about their new teacher. Was he seriously professional? Now Alfred could get a look at his shoes, which were knee-high brown boots that had the pants tucked inside of the hem which seemed to flap down; very peculiar shoes in his opinion, obviously from a different country. "I'll start off with role. When I call your name, please tell me something about yourself," he cleared his throat as he held the roster in his hands, "Aster, Daniel."

"Here. Um . . . I like to play soccer."

And the role went on like that. The students told the most trivial things, it was cute. Some girls would start showing off by saying how many boys they had been with, which made the teacher raise an eyebrow, which looked really funny.

"Bonnefoy, Alfred?"

"Huh, oh. Here. Um . . . I have a twin brother named Matthew." Might as well go with it.

Once the teacher was done, he put the papers aside and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his lower thighs, entwining his fingers together. He looked to the students who looked back, he smiled slightly before straightening, "Alright, now that I know something about you, you may ask me something." A student in the back raised her hand and he nodded to her. She had blond hair that reached her shoulders with a violet bow in her hair.

"How old are you Mr. Braginsky?"

Some girls giggled at the question, the remaining boys who didn't feel like nodding made some wolf whistles. The girl blushed red, but what quieted the class was the teacher's frown. Alfred decided the frown was much cuter than the smile. "I am twenty-seven, Lilly. Any other questions?"

A boy with dark brown hair pulled in a low pony-tail raised his hand before being called on, "You were our age during World War Two, where were you during the time?"

"In my home country."

"And that is?" Alfred inquired. He saw how the nervous edge that had been seeping away flared back in his eyes. There was something he didn't really want to talk about, but he had promised. So, would he honour his promise?

"I lived in the USSR, Russia to be exact."

Silence prevailed. So that had been what Mr. Beilschmidt had been warning them about. Their teacher was a communist! Sensing the thoughts, the tall man jumped off his desk, as though standing gave him a better chance, "Now, I think at this point I should explain something. I am _not_ Communist. I don't have any specific feelings on the government, but I have none on Capitalism either. I could really careless about which is which. All I am concerned with is: _do I have a home_, _do I have food_, and _do I have income_. Communist, capitalist, it means little to me. What does matter to me is my homeland and my family, as I am sure it does to all of you. I do not see myself as _Soviet_, but as _Russian_, and that is how it will always be for me. Is that understood?"

There was silence for a moment before Lilly spoke up again, "Of course Mr. Braginsky." He tone was so light and cheery, it was hard not to go _'Awe'_ at how completely adorable it was. Still, there was suspicion, and Alfred, though being one of the few true-blood Americans, liked this guy. He was young and seemed more like a child himself. "Yeah, no sweat. We dig. You don't have to always agree with your government, right guys?" Soft murmurs of agreement, and the icy situation thawed nicely. Alfred's blue eyes made contact with soft lavender that expressed the deepest form of gratitude.

"Now that that is done with, any more questions?"

"Can you speak Russian for us?" the Mexican girl asked happily. Other girls cooed approval.

He laughed softly, shaking his head, "_Jeto stanovitsja smeshno_."

"What does that mean?"

"This is becoming ridiculous," he chuckled before settling himself back on the desk, "Now, my turn. Tell me what chapters you have gone through and what information you know and what information you want to go over just in case. I heard you had a substitute for a month, so you couldn't have gone over too much already. And if you're worried about your grades, I passed you all for the first semester, but that means this semester is going to be much harder."

While the students when over what they already learned, Alfred stayed quiet. He studied his teacher meticulously, and one thing he noticed was how the other seemed to favor his left leg and walked with such a slight limp it was almost unnoticeable. This man was different from all the other teachers he had, young and vibrant. He knew them because he had been in their position not that long ago, right? Whatever, all he knew was that this guy could connect with them. That was reason enough to keep him around. And seriously, the guy was too cute some times, though he'd die before admitting it. Aloud anyway.

* * *

At lunch Alfred sat with his brother and their friends with his lunch. He took a large bite out of his cherry cobbler, dessert first, main course later. Gilbert smirked as he smashed his potatoes (and by smashed, he meant skewered and killed in the most heinous of ways), "So how did you like the new teach?"

"I like him. He's really cool and fun and he's Russian, go fig. Real young too, only twenty-eight. That made him our age during the war."

Gilbert gawked, "You do realize you called a Soviet cool, right?"

"He mad a point to explain that he was _not_ Soviet," Alfred informed him with a grin, "And your dad would kill you if he heard you talking about Mr. Braginsky that way. Or maybe I should call you a Nazi?"

"Alfred," Matthew suddenly snapped, elbowing his brother harshly in the ribcage, "Gilbert's dad fought the Japanese, that's low going for ethnicity."

"Hey, I'm just going by _his_ standards. The Russian's fought Hitler too, just so you know. He informed up that after the war he spent two years longer at his home before moving to America. So I think your dad and him have equal standing."

"Yeah, but did he fight?" Gilbert snapped back, taking a harsh bite out of the food.

Alfred shrugged, "I don't exactly know. He favors his left leg though, walks with a small limp. No one else in my class picked up on it and I didn't ask. I love mysteries."

"Until you can't figure them out and read the ending of the books," Mattie muttered.

"Technicalities."

* * *

After lunch they had World History. This wasn't like the required world history; this was an AP class that they decided to take instead of music or something like that. That was also what Mr. Braginsky taught.

When Matthew stepped through the door, he knew immediately what Alfred had been talking about. The young teacher was placing papers on the last of the desks and his room smelled of a food he couldn't quite name. Also, there were those eyes that greeted him warmly with that change of colour that Alfred had described to him. What screamed out to him was the innocence that shown behind those fluid shades of violet, but there was something else there. A sort of dark secret that lay buried beneath the surface. He heard a scoff and turned to see Gilbert frowning at him. What? He didn't know what the albino's problem was.

"You're staring," he snorted into Mattie's ear.

Matthew scowled, "Was not!" Then he noticed something: his brother wasn't beside him. He looked around to find him in his seat, usual Alfred would have whined and sulked and _waited_ for him. Maybe this teacher was what Alfred really needed to save his grades. He stepped inside with the flow of other students, though there were only twelve of them. He settled beside his brother and Gilbert beside him. Once everything was over with, Mr. Braginsky gave his introduction and took roll the same as he had that morning.

Alfred didn't know why he smiled when Mr. Braginsky said "Hello again Alfred" instead of what the sub did for three weeks, not remembering faces and names. Still, he felt special for being remembered. "Hello Mr. Braginsky. Can I ask you a question instead?"

The teacher's eyes with amusement as he folded his arms lazily over his crossed legs, "Go ahead." He seemed honest-to-goodness-ly curious of what Alfred wanted to ask.

"Do my brother and I look the same?" he blurted out. Laughter ringed out, even from the Russian. He knew immediately who Alfred's brother was, they did have family resemblance, just like _he_ did with his sisters.

"Well, _Matvey_ and you share some similarities. Your faces and eyes are shaped similarly, but otherwise your hair has a darker hue and Matthew's eyes are more grey than blue. He gets his violet hue from the veins in the back of his eyes. They are red from the blood, so match that with the pale blue of his eyes and you get that shade of violet," he explained. How nice! He added anatomy in that! Alfred was so going to remember than now!

"Alright, thanks!" and he continued on. Once he was done he sighed, "Alright, in my other classes I gave them a free period, however I have a great affiliation with world history and I would love to get straight to it. You do not mind, do you? If you are in this class, I would have suspected that you liked it just as much as me."

Alfred raised his hand and was called on, "We were just starting the Napoleonic wars. The little French guy just became emperor and had kicked Austria's butt in Austerlitz."

"Ah, but Alfred, the Austrians weren't alone in their fight. They had been backed up by the Russian forces sent by Tsar Alexander I. He knew that he had to back up the rebellious nations if he wanted to keep Napoleon out. Prussia was around during this time and this was one of the few times that the Austrians and Prussians teamed together, though they were far from liking each other due to years of bad blood. You should remember the names Frederick II, or Old Fritz, of Prussia and Maria Theresa of Austria for the reasons as to why that was. During this war, however-." Alfred let him drown off, oh he was seeping in the information . . . as he watched those pale peach-coloured lips move with such precision.

* * *

"That's all for class today, you have five minutes before the bell, so you can talk amongst yourselves or ask me some questions." Alfred's hand shot up immediately. The man chuckled, "Yes Alfred?"

"Do you have a first name or something?"

Mr. Braginsky chuckled again, "It's Ivan. Ivan Braginsky."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so yeah. Totally longer than anything else I've done alone. This has been in the works for MONTHS now. Seriously, and did you know 50's lingo is like a completely different language! Seriously! It should be in a class as a foreign language: The Slang of the Eras. Anyway, review and I'll be uber happy~!**


	2. Chapter Two: Soldier

**A/N: Yay, this became more popular than I expected it to be~! Rated M material in this chapter: Non-con, rape, bondage, UKE! RUSSIA, masturbation, wet dreams, shota-con . . . with the shota being the pervert. The accounts that Ivan relates are also historically accurate besides the flashback scene. So . . . Vampirism and cannibalism are also in here. Then we get into the ideologically sensitive material. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST SOVIETS, BOLSHEVIKS, OR COMMUNISM Actually, I am Communist. Enjoy~!**

* * *

"And he's really cool! He knows a lot about World History and he said that as we get closer to present day, we'd have more class discussions instead of lectures. And get this Dad, he sits on his desk! Have you ever heard of a teacher who sits on his desk? All of us were thrown for a loop at that one!" Alfred exclaimed as he recounted his school day on the way home. Matthew sat in the back seat this time around listening to his brother rant on about how wonderful the new teacher was. Mattie couldn't deny that he was a unique teacher, but Alfred seemed to obsess over him like he was a superhero!

Arthur didn't take his eyes off the road as he drove them home, "No Alfred, I can't possibly imagine why Ludwig would hire someone who is hardly out of the cradle."

"What do you mean _'hardly out of the cradle'_?" Alfred frowned, "He knows a ton! Besides, since he isn't an old man like you, he doesn't talk down at us. He talks to us as if we were adults learning this stuff. 'Sides, with him as my teacher, I got it made in the shade."

"Alfred, how many times have I told you to speak bloody _English_ and not this third world language you have exposed yourself to," his father warned. Alfred settled for just not talking, his Papa was way more lax in his speech, as was Mr. Braginsky. Ivan . . . that was a nice name, and easy to remember.

The group stopped at the market before returning home. "Hey," Matthew piped up as they pulled into their driveway and parked the Hudson. Alfred stopped gathering the paper bags and looked up expectantly. Mattie pointed to the house across the street, "Someone moved in!"

The house had been empty for a few weeks, maybe a month at most, but, just as Matthew had said, the _'For Sale'_ sign was down and a black Pontiac was parked in the front. The house was very well kept from the last owner; ivy grew up the side of the steel-blue building and cradled the windows, carefully trimmed. The person who lived there before had been an elderly man from the First World War. After his wife died, Francis had invited him over for Thanksgiving and Christmas and the twins would listen to stories of fighting in France and how life in the trenches was. A few months prior, he passed away and the family had been disputing over the will until they finally put the house up for sale.

"_Oui_," Francis sang through the window he opened to see the boys staring out to the new resident, "And he arrived just minutes before you did. I invited him over for supper, so hurry and bring my groceries so supper is done before he arrives." The two jumped into action, both curious as to who their new neighbor would be. Alfred was more or less distracted enough to not go on about his new teacher to Papa, much to Matthew's relief. And then dinner came rolling around.

* * *

There was a knock on the door and Arthur stood to answer it. Dinner was almost done, so Arthur might as well get to know this person. When he opened the door, he was met with a tall man who had white, no porcelain blond, hair and deep lilac eyes. He smiled shyly, the deep color of his eyes lightening to a soft lavender. He wore a long coat, though it was open enough to reveal a soft baby-blue shirt tucked into black slacks. His coat was a light color, as was the long scarf that was wrapped snuggly around his neck.

Arthur smiled welcomingly and took the dish that the other was carrying. It was customary, after all, for the invited to bring dessert. "Hello, I am Arthur Bonnefoy. Francis'-."

"I know, he talked much about you in our brief encounter. It is very nice to meet you. My name is-." He was cut off from a sound above that sounded like something being thrown actually.

"Dad! What happened to all my clothes?" Alfred shrieked as he ran halfway down the stairs with no shirt and his pants open. When he saw who was with his father in the sitting room, his eyes brightened immensely . . . then came the second most natural reaction. He suddenly remembered that his clothing was not presentable and blushed darkly. He ran back up the stairs shouting apologies and slammed the door to his room.

He leaned against the wood before slowly sliding down to the floor, his face slowly cooling from its sudden burst of heat. Oh, but he was smiling, and was he smiling. He was absolutely giddy. He didn't miss the way the other's violet eyes traced his body up and down with a few swift movements that could have only lasted a second before turning away. It was absolutely adorable how he buried his face in the folds of his scarf to hide the dust of rose that settled on his cheeks. He didn't even miss how the other had peaked at him from under his dark eyelashes, his shoulders hunched forward to make himself smaller. Alfred giggled with bubbling glee. Not only had this man taken an interest in him, but he lived just across the street!

"Sorry about that," Arthur sighed, "Boys shall be boys."

The guest smiled politely, obviously flustered, "I always knew Alfred was charismatic."

"You know Alfred?" Arthur jumped in surprise, not expecting his son's name to be used.

"Yes, as I was about to say: My name is Ivan Braginsky. I teach both Matthew and Alfred at the high school. You raised your sons well; I believe I should be thanking you just as much as Alfred. He is so accepting, I was taken aback," the teacher explained.

Arthur's eyes lit up as well as he balanced the dish in one arm and heartily shook the taller man's hand with the other, "It's good to meet you Ivan. Alfred wouldn't stop talking about you on the way home, and from the looks of things, he's excited that you moved in so near. Come and sit down, is there anything I can get for you to drink with your supper? Francis shouldn't be much longer; how about I take your coat."

"Water will do, I don't want to be too burdensome," he explained quietly, shedding off his coat which was hastily put on the rack beside the door. Arthur grinned reassuringly and excused himself before entering the kitchen with the food.

* * *

The Frenchman checked how the ham was cooking before closing the oven door. He turned back to his lover who was inconspicuously watching their guest through the small window in the wall, the dessert resting before him on the counter. Francis chuckled and pulled his husband away, and silenced any complaint with a kiss. 'Twas the French way to settle disputes after all.

After the kiss broke, Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, "Did you know he was Alfred's teacher?"

"No, not at first," Francis laughed gently, "But when I said I was Bonnefoy, he immediately inquired about Alfred by name and asked if we were related. He also explained to me how grateful he was on how we raised our sons. He's from the USSR you know. Apparently he was extremely scared to be in front of a bunch of children who were raised to be against him and Alfred broke the ice. When I told him that that was just how our Alfie was, he thanked me anyway for _'fostering such a rare quality in such a society'_."

Arthur's frown lessened slightly as he looked back to the window, "He is strange."

"Oh come now. Get the man some water and go make small talk. Dinner shall be served in two." His shorter lover nodded and went to the cupboards to get a glass, but yelped when his ass was fondled somewhat roughly by the other, who actually had the gall to act innocent immediately after violating him! Oh he was so dead after Ivan left.

* * *

Ivan, however, never heard the exchange in the kitchen. At approximately the same time Arthur let out that (manly) cry, Ivan jumped to the sound of "MR. BRAGINSKY!" He turned just in time that Alfred tripped over a stair with an exclamation of surprise. Ivan jumped to his feet and caught the boy with a soft "oof". The child was heavier than he would have first thought.

He looked down into the deep, ocean blue eyes of the teenager pressed against his chest and smiled, "Please, call me Ivan. I'm not in a classroom currently, now am I?"

"Of course, Ivan," Alfred chirped happily, though he reluctantly stood up to his full height and stepped back from his teacher's warm grasp. They actually weren't too terribly far off. Alfred's forehead reached the other's chin, but he was still growing! He was only sixteen after all, and he could be the same height as his teacher in the next two or so years. "Sorry about earlier, I didn't know you were already here." As it was, he was wearing an embarrassingly formal black shirt tucked into a pair of jeans.

"No, no, it's fine. You are free from any guilt. Sit with me?" he offered and the boy promptly sat beside him, crossing his legs at the knee. Ivan sat back down and crossed his legs effeminately, but it was to make room for the other's lanky appendages. Even so, Alfred marked it into his mind; his teacher had folded his legs like that at school as well. "I did notice that you have a well formed muscle structure. Do you play sports?"

Alfred's eyes exploded with light like a firework, "Yeah, you bet your bottom dollar I do! I play baseball, though dad makes both me and Mattie play _'football'_ too. Seriously, we call it _soccer_ here. Is it too much to speak the lingo?"

"Well Alfred, let's look at it this way: The American _football_ has nothing to do with actual feet. It is mostly upper body mass. Also," the elder continued, relaxing into the conversation, "All of Europe, Australia, and countries in Africa refer to the game as _football_ whereas I have only heard Americans call it _soccer_."

"Kill joy," the blond muttered, but he enjoyed listening to the other laugh. "D.D.T."

"What, and look like you?"

Alfred shot up immediately, "How do you know that! No way should you know that!"

Ivan laughed again, "I have lived here long enough to pick up on all the slang you kids like to speak. Do you even realize you could title yourselves bilingual? You have the most unusual speech patterns and the words simply fly over most of our heads. Watching television shows also helped," he laughed again, not that soft chuckle or fluttering laughter, it was a giggle. That's right, a giggle. Like the quarterback winking at the cheerleaders type of giggle (and the giggle was totally from the girls). Those eyes danced and Alfred could have sworn he was in heaven.

"Mr. Braginsky?" A small voice from the staircase squeaked in surprise. The two of them turned around and saw Matthew standing at the base of the stairs, not believing his eyes. Mr. Braginsky lived _across the street_!

"Please, call me Ivan in public. I'm not one for constant formalities."

"Come along you three," Francis called, "Supper is ready."

* * *

"So, Ivan," Arthur started with small talk as he ate his carefully cut pieces of meat, "I noticed that you had a slight limp. How did that come about?" Alfred shot his father a glare, which went pass everybody without any effect.

Ivan took a sip of his water before speaking, "Ah, that? It's simply an old battle wound."

"Battle?" Francis' ears pricked up. Alfred knew his Papa had been a soldier in France during the war where as his dad had been part of the R.A.F. The two had met early in the war and you could call it love at first sight . . . or punch for his Papa's case.

"Yes, I was at Stalingrad."

"_Mon cher_, how old are you?"

Ivan laughed through his nose, "Twenty-seven."

"Goodness lad, you were only the boys' age during the war, how in the world did you even get on the front lines?" Arthur gawked. Actually, everyone gawked, especially Alfred. His teacher, his sweet, innocent Ivan, had fought in the most heinous war since the turn of the century. Wait, when did Ivan become _his_ in _that_ sense?

"I enlisted and said I was eighteen. It was that simple," he shrugged, "The country was in a panic at the time. They didn't bother with birth certificates, and if you were a volunteer it didn't matter if you were eighteen, thirteen, or even eighty. Anyone they could enlist, they enlisted. It wasn't until Stalingrad did things change in our favor. I wouldn't exactly call it the _turning_ point, but it was when we knew we had a chance."

"And you were shot in the knee?" Matthew asked, wanting more.

Ivan nodded, "Pretty much I got hit by an Estonian machine-gunner who had his eyes peeled for me, but it wasn't at Stalingrad I was shot. It was '44, July twenty-third. It was the Battle of Auvere. I didn't fight for the rest of the war."

"For your injuries, right?" Alfred guessed. Not exactly heroic . . .

Ivan laughed and shook his head. His laugh was bitter. "No, no. If it had been for my injuries, I wouldn't have a limp. No, I was a POW, my sisters thought I was dead until end of the war. The Russians had a habit of counting their MIA soldiers as dead, but they weren't too far off. It was more like we skipped the death part and went straight to hell. Not that the actual fighting was any better, but at least we had guns too."

"What happened?" Alfred asked in awe. He was so wrapped up in the story with the rest of his family that the forks were firmly placed on the table. Heck, the blonde was too wrapped up in this tale he hardly even registered the fact that Ivan had sisters. Ivan went on, telling them about the death marches that they were forced to do from the front lines, including him with his injured leg. There was a Soviet medic in the camp by the name of Toris Laurinaitis whom he had befriended. He had been transferred from the camp some time after and never saw Toris again, and still worried for the young man and wondered if he had family.

"They hated us even more than the Jews it seemed, and still seems to this day. After we marched into a makeshift camp, we were ordered to strip down to nothing and clothes that may or may not have fit us were practically thrown at us. They treated me worse than most due to my injury. They could do whatever they wanted without any threat or hope of retaliation." He explained it with his hands before taking another sip of water, "But the worst was yet to come." He tuened to Arthur and Francis, "Unless either of you were POWs at this time, you wouldn't understand what I mean by hunger. They had plenty of food, that much we knew. We could smell the bread bakig for the officers and it brought us to tears every time. I can guarantee you that the Jews had more food than we were supplied with. I can honestly say that since we went days without food and never did we find clean water.

"The most horrid of acts were by ourselves more than our enemies. There was one boy, a Latvian named Ravis, who was much too small to be there, but there he was regardless. I felt pity for him, he seemed so young. Any food I found, three-fouths would go to him, but he always seemed plump despite our hunger. I found out why late one night. I couldn't sleep, because I knew if I fell alseep, I would bee too exhasted to wake up in the morning. By then I would have already died, or had a bullet through my head. So I wandered around the camp and came across little Ravis, his face covered in blood. When I came close, he panicked, telling me I couldn't have the food. I never would have eaten it anyway. It had been a fellow soldier who had died from starvation, but the small Latvian was picking any meat he could get off of the body. I never wanted to eat after that."

Alfred took the last words to heart, seeing as the other had hardly touched his dinner, yet seemed content with his water. "Did you ever, you know, eat another person?"

"Technically yes," Ivan replied with a sigh, "but it was more of myself. I found the top of a can one day that one of the soldiers discarded carelessly. Using the rugged edges, I would bleed my arms and legs and drink my own blood when no water was to find, which became increasingly frequent as the weather chilled. When the snows finally did come, we had never been so happy to be so cold."

"What I find peculiar is that you, being the wounded one, survived the ordeal for a year or so when many strong, healthy lads died wihin the first few months," Arthur commented, puzzled, "How did you get by with your disability?"

* * *

_Bound by his scarf__, his legs spread wide apart by the body between them. Fingers thrust into his mouth, his tongue carrassing them, lubricating them thickly with saliva while the other's mouth clamped onto his perked nipple with teeth. His cried out in unwanted pleasure and pain. The other with his short brown hair smirked against his skin and pulled their lubricated hand away before jabbing two fingers into the virgin entrance. Tears welled in his eyes as he felt the digits force themselves inside of him, curiling and __scissoring__ him wider. His back arched in pain while the free hand smothered his cries._

"_So young," the man murmered as he looked over the gaunt, scarred body, "Not even old enough to have pubic hair. I didn't think the Soviets would be this desperate. At the rate we're going through you dogs, the ____Führer will be able to rightfully say he destroyed the Red Army." As he spoke, his breath blew cold breezes over his moist nub, making the one beneath him shiver involuntarily. He felt the fingers pull out; his eyes shooting open from the agony that shot through his spine as the large girth was forced into his slightly stretched hole. A soft whine vibrated in the back of his throat, his body tensing at the intrusion. The one above him didn't stop, however, and pushed past the contracting muscles. The man hefted his trembling legs over his shoulders before thrusting all the way to the hilt with no care for the other's well being._

___He yelped in pain, getting past the hand that had been quieting him the entire time, tears streaming down his temples as he was pounded into with abandon. On command, he forced his violet eyes to look into those dark green ones that seemed to laugh mockingly at him and how his body was broken. His breath hitched as a warm liquid was released forcefully into his hole, hurting his stomach slightly at the sheer force of the release. He could feel some the seed of the other trickle around the edges as he continued thrusting in. Apparently he was hell-bent on having the Russian come as well, to humiliate him further. Violet eyes stared blankly at the ceiling of the barrack; the only sounds were small grunts and the slapping of slicked skin on skin._

* * *

He pulled himself from the memories, his stomach churning sickeningly as he fingered his scarf reassuringly, yet casually. The others watched him expectantly and he shrugged, "I was simply lucky I guess."

Alfred hadn't missed the distant glaze in his teacher's eyes at the question, nor the way he seemed to shrink back on himself, as though wanting to hide. There was a reason and he dodged it, but from the panic and pain that reflected in his eyes, Alfred figured it was too horrible to bring to a table. The conversation quickly became lighter and they ate dessert before Ivan bid them good-night and left. Alfred watched him enter the house across the street and saw the lights turn on.

"Alfred, come help me clean the dishes," Arthur called. Reluctantly, Alfred left the window and entered the kitchen.

* * *

"A teacher, how ridiculous," Arthur muttered to himself as he washed the dishes, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, "he's still a child himself. And a soldier? He's lucky he's still alive. I'm nine years older than him, his age that he is now during the war."

"What are you going on about _mon cher_?" Francis clucked. Alfred stayed quiet, drying the wet dishes with a towel.

The Englishman sighed, "I don't know. It's just not right for someone so young to give up his youth like that. I pity him more than anything. And he's all alone in that big house, not a wife or a lover. He isn't even seeing someone, and I understand he's new, but he should have been married a while ago."

"Ah, but Arthur, you were his age when we courted," the other blond reminded his love before pulling him into a chaste kiss, "Perhaps he has yet to find the one meant for him.

"I don't know. I think there is more to his story than he told us. Not something he did, but something done to him that he didn't want to recite. I hade mates who were POWs, some came back after the war, but they told me some pretty disturbing details of their capture. Even my brother, Ceallach, was witness to some of those acts. He told me about-."

Francis cut him off with a clearing of his throat and motioned to Alfred who had turned his attention entirely on his fathers. Arthur took the hint and cut the conversation short, which pissed off Alfred, but he couldn't very well be mad. It was obviously bad if his parents didn't want to speak of it in front of him, and he was bloody sixteen!

* * *

Once the dishes were done, Alfred fled to his bedroom and stared out the window to the house across the street. Surprisingly, the window of the bedroom was open and Alfred could look straight inside, but that meant if Ivan looked over to his house . . . Hastily, he drew the curtains and turned off his light, peaking around the edges of the fabric. His breathing caught in his throat as he saw his teacher enter the room. He looked tired, stressed out, and Alfred prayed it wasn't because of him. What made his heart hammer in his ears was when the other began disrobing. The large coat was placed off to the side, out of sight of the window from his current angle, but when he returned, his shirt was also missing, along with the scarf.

He had a muscle structure, that was certain, but it wasn't a defined as Alfred's own. Alfred ravished the other's body with his eyes as the elder had done earlier in the evening, only he took his time, burning every contour into his memory like a road map. His skin was pale, almost as much as Gilbert's was, and his figure was extremely slender. He wouldn't have guessed that from all the clothing he wore. Everything was used o make him appear bigger. It was cute actually. 'He doesn't want to appear vulnerable,' Alfred mused pleasantly. His teacher turn towards the window momentarily and Alfred caught a lovely glimpse of his soft pink nipples. He felt a sort of turning heat in his gut and his pants tighten as he imagined those nubs hard and in his mouth, or tweaked between his fingers. He fantasized over what sounds his teacher made when in pleasure, or how he would scream in ecstasy.

Alfred bit his lower lip as his teacher stripped off his pants across the street, unknowingly being spied upon by his student. The teenager palmed himself lustily, a soft groan reverberating in the back of his throat as he unzipped his pants and released his half-hard member from its confines. He watched his teacher dress down to his undergarments and wander uncaringly around his room, bending to pick up some article of whatever off the floor, giving Alfred a clear shot of his round ass that seemed more meat than muscle in of itself. He softly stroked himself to the thought of groping that round butt, ravishing that pale expanse of flesh, rolling those rose-coloured nipples with his tongue and fingers. He pulled his hand back for a second, spitting on it before taking up his activity again, now imagining the older man's mouth around his length, deep-throating him and circling his head with that pink tongue he had seen flick out during dinner. With his other hand, he touched his own torso, tweaking his own hard nubs and trailing his nails over his pale skin, moaning lightly, though the soft sounds soon became heavy and his breathing went from light pants to labored gasps. He felt his muscles spasm as he ejaculated over his hand, imagining it to be Ivan's throat as he swallowed it all. The thought sent another ribbon of seed spurting from his penis.

He shuddered and sighed, glancing back at the dark house across the street, obviously his teacher had gone to bed. He sighed, pulling his limp member back under his garments and standing up and kicking off his pants before throwing off his shirt. He needed to take a shower and clean off the mess he made on himself, but he could always do that in the morning. He slipped under the covers of his bed with nothing but his stained undergarments. His eyes slowly slid close and he nodded off to sleep.

He pulled back, panting heavily as he fought to regain his breath, a trail of saliva connecting their lips together. He looked into the other's half-lidded eyes and ran his fingers through the pale locks of putty-coloured hair. He leaned forward and kissed their jawbone, slowly making his way down the pale expanse of their neck savoring their pulse under his tongue as he suckled over the main vein. He felt their labored breaths shudder and hitch in his throat.

* * *

_A light tug on the back of his head informed him that he was to lift his head. He looked up into those deep lavender eyes and his heart skipped a beat. The timid blush and childish, pouty bottom lip. He leaned down closer, their noses brushing lightly against each other before their lips met again. Their kiss began slow and careful becoming less chaste and turning into a dance of their hot tongues as they ran their hands over each other. They threw their head back to gasp for air and he nipped the sensitive, hot skin._

_A moan escaped their lips, "Oh Alfred."_

* * *

Alfred jolted awake, breathing hard and sweating. He didn't need to look down to know that he was extremely hard. He might as well take that shower, even if it was; he looked to the clock, two in the bloody morning. He made his way to the bathroom at the end of the hall and took a cold shower, relieved at how the icy needles of water cleared his head. Once he exited the bathroom though, his thoughts immediately traveled to the man across the street and his beautiful violet eyes.

"Alfred," Gilbert exclaimed to the daydreaming blond, "Yo, earth to Alfred Bonnefoy! WAKE UP MAN!"

"Huh?" Alfred blinked repeatedly as he was pulled from another thought. Damn and it was a nice one too, "What is it?"

"Alfred," Matthew groaned, "What have you got on your mind that is so important? No, I know what it is. Never mind."

Alfred's brows furrowed. Why was his brother pissed off, "What's the matter Mattie? You're not yourself."

"No Alfred, I am myself, it's you who's off on Cloud Nine!" the younger twin snapped, "What are you daydreaming about now? His lips? Oh, maybe it's his ass this time. Or are you just mentally undressing him? I am sick and tired of watching you stare at the walls and not listen to a damn thing that's being said!"

"What Mattie means is that he thinks you're being a real prick for ignoring him and stuff," Gilbert reiterated, only to have a book slammed on the top of his head.

Matthew was seething, "I meant what I damn well said!"

"Whoa, Mattie, angle level is at eight and needs to go back down to two, cool? I was just thinking-."

"About Ivan, right?" he cut it with a harsh whisper so no one besides the three of them could hear, "You've been doing that since he started teaching our class and even more so when you found out he lived across the blasted street!"

Alfred's face exploded into a blush at being found out. And he didn't think of Mr. Braginsky that often . . . okay, maybe a little. Maybe a lot. But he really liked the other man, he couldn't help it. He looked down ashamed, "Sorry, it's just-."

"Started having dreams of him yet?" Gilbert asked curiously. When Alfred's blush deepened he nodded his head knowingly, "Man, you've got it bad. I remember when I first started having dreams about Mattie-."

Matthew squealed in a panic and tackled the albino, covering his mouth while Alfred sat there dumfounded, trying to digest the last statement. Dreams . . . about Mattie . . . his Mattie . . . Ah, it suddenly clicked and he tackled the albino as well, but instead of squeaking shut up, he was growling death threats to Gilbo Jr. By the time the younger twin had pulled them apart, Gilbert's lip was split and Alfred had a forming bruise, but it didn't hurt as much as the thought of being left in the dark.

"Why didn't you tell me Mattie! How long?" he demanded pitifully.

Mattie sighed, "Since last October. It became official on Halloween."

"Sheesh and you complain about me!"

"I'm just tired of being ignored . . . and I'm getting sick with those lovelorn eyes you pull. They're so sweet, I feel my cavities forming," Matthew sniffed, back to his former self. Alfred huffed, only Matthew could change it back to him.

Alfred frowned at the albino sitting across from him, "Well, seeing as Mattie doesn't seem to be injured or hurt in any way, I guess I don't have much to whine about, so long as you both stop teasing me about Mr. B."

"Fine, truce?" Gilbert dealt, his hand held out for a shake that the American took with a business-like air.

"I am right HERE!"

* * *

Ivan made his way to his car after the school day was over, his briefcase full with tests he needed graded for both classes. It had been an extremely stressful day. Two students in his AP World History class failed their last tests and the parents had accused that it was because he was brainwashing the other children and their students wouldn't stand for it. The real reason was that their dates had been entirely mixed up and Napoleon Bonaparte wasn't around in 1878 or any other incorrect date the students placed on their tests. He had let the confrontation and threats on his life slide by, not believing in them, until he saw his car.

_'Go Home RED'_ was painted in crimson across the black and the windows had been kicked out, not including the damage that the entire frame took with an unknown weapon. He could easily guess it was a crowbar however. His brows furrowed together as he worried his bottom lip. He couldn't drive in that wreck, but because of the words more than anything else. People in this society were easily swayed, and the derogatory remark would make people narrow their eyes as he passed. He would simply walk then. He would be at home by dusk.

* * *

Alfred and his brother jumped into their Papa's car, Mattie in the front this time around when their French father interrupted their chatter. "Alfie, I do believe that is your teacher, Ivan Braginsky. Why is he walking?"

"Huh?" Sure enough, Mr. B was making his way down the street with his briefcase by his side. But Alfred had sworn the Pontiac had been absent from the driveway when they, themselves, left for school that morning. "I don't know why he's walking. Let's see what's up." They drove the car slowly and pulled up beside the young man who seemed frightened for a second before recognizing Francis in the front seat.

"_Bonjour Monsieur Braginsky_. May I ask why you are walking home? It'll take you the rest of the day to get to the neighborhood," their Papa explained pleasantly, but being the reader he was, he knew something wasn't right just in the way he held his case defensively and how long his strides had been when he had started walking.

He smiled with a shy blush, "Yes, I know. But my car has been in a little . . . accident."

Alfred suddenly opened the back door and smiled warmly, wanting that fear in the other's eyes to disappear. He didn't like seeing the other scared or disturbed, "Why don't you jump in then Mr. Braginsky? Until you can fix up your car, or afford a new one, we can take you. Right Papa?"

"_Oui_, of course we can."

Ivan smiled gratefully and slipped into the back seat with his student and they made their way home. No one brought up the accident, they all understood. Not everyone was accepting, not everyone was kind, but Ivan wanted to forget that as he was surrounded by friends.

* * *

**A/N: Alrighty that was freaking LONG. Anyway, I can write a side-story on how Arthur and Francis met and became friends and such, just say that you want it (I wanna write it! X3) I hope you Enjoyed~!**


	3. Chapter Three: Dreams

**A/N: I am sooo sorry this is late. I have had horrible writer's block and then family issues came up and I got bogged down. So here is your MUCH shorter chappie *begs for forgiveness* I AM SO ASHAMED OF MYSELF! IT'S TOO SHORT!**

* * *

Her frown deepened as he stayed silent to her protests. Now she remembered why she divorced him, because he didn't _care_! She opened her mouth again only to be cut off, "I heard every word Elizabeta, and my resolve still stands: Ivan Braginsky is going to stay as a teacher. The parents can remove their students, complain, or even petition the school; it is all in their rights. Regardless, I do not have to conform to their demands and I have a number of supporters that actually _want_ to keep Mr. Braginsky in his position."

"You do realize the government could very well come out here and arrest him!"

"For what?" he demanded sternly, finally looking at her, "For fleeing a country that was only becoming more aggressive and dangerous? For wanting to find a better life elsewhere only to find that everyone is against him? What should he be arrested for, please tell me. If anything, those children should be arrested for vandalism."

"They are standing up for their country," she sniffed, flipping her brown locks over her shoulder.

Ludwig's blue eyes flashed angrily, "And this man has disassociated himself from _everything_ he knows. You don't see him calling these students Capitalists and telling them how wrong their ideals are. It's the other way around. All I have gotten from his other classes are high remarks from the students. That is all that matters."

"Ludwig-!"

"You are dismissed Ms. Héderváry."

Her green eyes glared daggers to the other before she straightened her posture and turned on her heels out the office, muttering darkly.

* * *

It became a sort of routine for Alfred. Every morning he'd be the first one out when Ivan crossed the street and he'd greet his teacher cheerfully enough, always taking pleasure in the way the Russian smiled and laughed. They would talk in his classroom in the mornings before the other students arrived once they got to school. Alfred would watch as he fussed around, looking for this or that and setting up what he'd be teaching for that day and chapter.

Once he even purposefully tapped his teachers rear and claimed it as an accident after Mr. Braginsky yelped in surprise, his face flushed a deep red. It couldn't be denied that he looked even more adorable with a heavy blush across his face. What about when he was flushed with pleasure and slicked with sweat and other . . . bodily fluids? Oh and how those thoughts would repeat over and over as he watched the other at the front of the room. He would fantasize about that round ass bare and in the air, begging to be taken.

Then they would go home together, Alfred asking meaningless questions just to hear the other's voice. After that, Arthur would take up the challenge and the two would converse endlessly. During the weekends, Ivan could be found at their house, spending time with the twins or conversing casually with the parents. Francis loved learning new recipes, so they would share traditional dishes and spend hours cooking. One time Arthur left with the boys to come home to find the kitchen overflowing with desserts from almost every country in Europe. The two mad chefs were covered head to toe in cooking components and armed with whisks laughing at the other three's reaction. Oh how Alfred loved that laugh, loved the playfulness, loved that person.

At night, he'd go to bed after jacking off to his teacher discarding his clothes, have a naughty dream, and wake up with an aching hard-on before taking a cold shower. Then the cycle would repeat.

* * *

As weeks turned into months, Alfred talked with Ivan much more, and came to know his personality and fall in love with the character as much as he had loved the other's body. Now it wasn't just the lust that drove him. Before he would daydream of fucking Ivan thoroughly, in every way plausible, and then some, but the story had escalated, or declined, to going to drive-ins and watching movies, or just holding each other in bed, naked or fully clothed, it didn't matter.

* * *

"Alfred, hurry up!" Arthur shouted, clothed semi-formally with a white dress shirt and black slacks. His shoes were polished and he wore a charcoal grey petticoat. It was April, so the temperatures had risen to a mild degree but that wasn't as important as the day. Francis and Arthur were celebrating their anniversary and Ivan had volunteered to watch the boys while the two had time to themselves for the next three days. The first night they'd spend in the house, but afterwards they'd leave to god knows where. The main point was to not tell the kids. Last time they did, the twins stalked them all the way there.

The Russian giggled, "It's all fine, and he is a teenaged boy after all. He's probably looking for something to do while he's over."

* * *

In all actuality, Alfred knew exactly what he wanted to do over at Ivan's house, though he'd be hard pressed to talk his teacher into sex. With that in mind, he packed games for them to play instead. That wasn't what was holding him up however. He was busy trying to find an inconspicuous way to pack his boxers. That would be kind of embarrassing if Mr. Braginsky saw his underwear, especially with its vibrant colors. Finally he felt satisfactory over it.

And none too soon; "Alfred!" Arthur shouted again.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" Alfred called back. Hefting his bag and sprinting down the stairs.

* * *

"Listen to Ivan, don't be a nuisance to him either. If he wants your help with something, you help him. Don't mess up his house, and don't do anything you know is wrong," Arthur listed off, though he only faced Alfred during this speech in front of the Russian's door, which seemed to amuse Ivan even more so.

Alfred rolled his eyes, "He _is_ my teacher dad, and I know how to listen."

"So you think," the Englishman frowned before tuning back to the taller adult, "If you have any problems, you know the number, right?"

Ivan laughed again, before turning Arthur around and nudging his towards the house, "Yes, I have everything. Now go and enjoy yourself. They are good boys, they'll behave. I have no doubt about that."

"Alright," Arthur sighed, saying good bye one last time before making his way across the street while the other three stepped through the door.

* * *

"Mr. Arthur Bonnefoy," a voice called out sweetly from the house next door. Arthur swallowed a heavy sigh as he turned to the owner of the voice with a tense smile. He knew Elizabeta Héderváry from her time married to Ludwig Beilschmidt and also from high school. She was a very moody, strong woman who had a problem with commitment.

"Yes Elizabeta?" he asked, walking closer to the fence where she stood with a water bucket, "What may I do for you?"

She laughed carefree, but her eyes looked cold, "You do know you have been conversing with a Soviet spy, right? Well, obviously not if you would subject your sons to him, so here's the news: He was sent by the Communists to pose as a teacher and brainwash the newer generation."

"And where, pray tell, did you find this out?" he asked politely enough, but his mouth was set in a grim frown. Not because he believed what was being said, but because he knew it was a flat-out lie."

Elizabeta waved her gloved hand as though swinging the doubt aside, "I have friends who have connections."

"Well," Arthur smiled this one tenser than the last, "from what I know about the man, he is very shy and enjoys kids. He is a very good cook and his favorite flower is the sunflower. He fought against the Jerries on the Easter Front during the war and left two years after the war ended. He denies all affiliation to the Soviet government, says the pledge of allegiance like the rest of us, and lives in that house all alone. I find him wonderful conversation and a very good friend which is more than I can say to you Ms. Héderváry."

She looked taken aback, "Arthur, I-."

"All I can say is that _he_ doesn't gossip about false information unlike some other associates I have the misfortune of knowing. Good evening Elizabeta," he called before leaving her and entering his house.

There was a very reasonable explanation as to why Arthur had treated her so badly. Yes, of course there was. Arthur was a model gentleman, even after he caught her watching him and Francis making out in one of the rooms before they had ever adopted Alfred and Matthew. Yes, a reasonable explanation there was: Ivan Braginsky had brainwashed the entire family!

* * *

Alfred and Matthew felt that they had entered into a whole new world that they never knew the second they stepped through the threshold. The rug was a pale gold color and stretched through the house to the kitchen, where the carpeting became porcelain tile. The walls were white with a matching gold color sponged over it. There weren't many pictures, but there were tapestries on a few of the walls in dark crimson, but others were in a brilliant gold. The entire room was full of warm colors and even the smell of burning candles caught their attention.

"Come along boys," Ivan chimed, now ahead of them in the living room. They looked between each other for a moment, still slightly overwhelmed by the culture difference before following after him. They were shown to the downstairs guest room that was large enough for two full sized beds, so that it had. A television was against one wall while a mirror and a dresser lined another. The beds had matching red comforters and blue blankets with white sheets underneath. Once they were settled, they ate a dinner that they didn't know even the name, and settled in the guest room to watch some television while Ivan excused himself to go finish some work.

* * *

"Hey, Mattie," Alfred broke the relative silence that had settled hours ago between the two as they watched a highly pointless television show about communist plots and spies, "It's really late. I think we should be getting to bed. I think Ivan is already piling up some Zs."

The younger twin glanced at the dimly lit clock on the wall and sighed, "Yeah, you're right. At least it's Friday. Man, Dad and Papa would freak if they knew we were up this late."

"How much worse if it was a school day," Alfred joked before standing up, dressed in a T-shirt and sweats, "I'm getting some water. I'll be right back." Matthew muttered a response before clicking off the television, leaving Alfred in the dark to find the kitchen. Luckily the house was almost the same as his own, so he found it easily enough. Just as he was about to fill a glass with water however, he heard a sound from upstairs.

Now that Alfred's curiosity was piqued, he made his way slowly up the stairs, wondering if Ivan was still awake. He could see a small light that could only be made by candles; he knew Ivan slept with a candle by his side, though the American could never explain why since the light was too dim for him to see what was happening. Now that he was so close and actually inside the house, Alfred could see just fine. The door was only cracked open, so he could safely peek through without fear of being noticed. And the way the Candle was positioned, it was perfect. He knelt before the door before covering his mouth with one hand, his eyes wide and his cock hardening by the second.

Ivan lay on his back on the bed, completely disrobed and panting. The ashen hair was becoming wet from sweat and a small trail of saliva made its way from the corner of his mouth. More than anything, however, Alfred focused on the lust-filled, glazed violet eyes and that pleasure induced flush. He was a quiet one, but that voice in Alfred's mind told him that _he_ could make him loud. Slender fingers ran teasingly over a hard member that dripped precum that only served to lubricate. The Russian moaned softly, almost inaudible to Alfred who was a ways away and trying to be silent himself as he stroked himself in time with the other in the room. Using the side of his thumbnail, Ivan lightly dragged the digit down the underside of his aching cock to be met with such pleasure that a ribbon of semen ejaculated as he gasped and arched his back.

Alfred wanted to enter the room all cool-like and take over from where the other already was, but he knew he couldn't without making Ivan uncomfortable in class or for the next two days especially. He also noticed with how the other played with the head that he was uncircumcised, whereas Alfred and Matthew were. This fact made him feel oddly superior, as though he was more grown up than Ivan was. But even more than that, he was thinking of all the fun he could have with that skin, especially with his tongue.

Ivan raised three fingers to his own mouth and suckled on them greedily, taking pleasure in thrusting them in and out of his mouth before pulling them away entirely and lining them up at his entrance. From where Alfred was, he got a good view of the other's hole and how he fingered it lightly with the saliva-covered digits. Alfred's tongue flicked out over his dry lips as he thought of pushing his tongue in that tight ring of muscles. He could see two of the three thrust in slowly, disappearing inside before the other began stretching, scissoring and curling his fingers inside. A soft whimper passed Alfred's lips at the same time the other moaned as the prostate was bumped, his body arching entirely off the bed. Alfred wanted to be in there, he wanted to be in there so bad, his cock twitched encouragingly, though he only sped up his thrusts to match that of the (now) three digits thrusting in and out of the hole. He gripped his own cock harder, imagining how the muscles would feel around him. He went at the same pace as the other until it was so close to peaking. Embarrassingly, Alfred reached his end first and came hard into his hand, his eyes screwing shut as he rode out the waves of pleasure. The first real sound Ivan made was when he too fell over the edge. He cried out in pleasure as seed spilled over his slender torso, his muscles going into spasms and twitching violently.

Alfred fell back against the wall as he caught his breath, wiping his hand off on his pants as he heard the Russian in the room pant as he lay limp on the bed. It took a while, but once the teenager thought that the other wasn't going to notice, he peeked back into the room. Ivan lay on the bed, asleep and spread eagle with no blankets covering him, semen splattered across his pale skin. Ignoring his logical side that screamed for him to return to the kitchen, Alfred stepped closer, staying close to the ground so as to not cast unwanted shadows. Once he was beside the bed, he took in the sight, as well as the prospect of being so near the one he wanted. Hesitantly, his tongue flicked out over the salty liquids that covered the other's body. It tasted strange, but not in an entirely _bad_ way. Actually, it had its own strange form of appeal. As he carefully licked away the fluids, he heard Ivan moan softly. His heart nearly stopped until he realized the other was dead asleep. Regardless of how conscious the other was, the limp cock twitched in arousal. Then the though came to him: sleep sex.

Ivan wouldn't know, so there wouldn't be too much awkwardness between the two. And Alfred could push past that. He peppered the still-flushed skin, enjoying the murmured sounds and how the member slowly twitched into erection. Once his task was done, it was all a matter of reaching orgasm without the other realizing it. He slowly took the head in his mouth, tasting the salty residue from the first orgasm as he did. He rolled the balls between his fingers, relishing how the other gasped and arched in his dreams, muttering something or another. The American cautiously took in more of the cock, feeling the pulse on the underside as he ran his tongue and bottom teeth along it. More salty fluids dribbled into his mouth and he enjoyed every bit of it. He took in more in stages, massaging the sack and stimulating the hole with his hands. His heart was nearly bursting with the situation. He was touching Ivan in an extremely sexual way. He was the one claiming Ivan. He was the one drawing out those wanton sounds that rivaled that of sirens in Greek myths. He hadn't been expecting the ejaculation, but it came. The hot cum shooting into his mouth and overflowing around his mouth, he did his best not to gag. He pulled away, the sticky, white substance dripping from his lips to the body below him. He lifted the limp member to his lips once again and placed a gentle kiss on the foreskin. Ivan was his, and no one would change that.

Experimenting with his newfound proximity, he matched the other's face, the semen wiped from his face, but the smell and taste still lingering. He kissed the Russian's forehead, nose, cheeks, and finally those peach-coloured lips. He gently forced his tongue inside and tasted the Russian. He saw fireworks; they exploded behind his eyelids and in his brain and chest. Oh how he wanted to make it deeper, to visibly claim some part of the other's body. Oh, but he knew he couldn't, not without more risk. He pulled away, running his fingers through the hair. It was soft, almost like the fibers that made up a feather. He fingered the ashen hair a little while longer before leaving to brush his teeth as well as get that water he had originally intended. His mouth was still dry.

* * *

The next day, Alfred was the last one awake and he pretended as though nothing had happened, but something had changed. He didn't wish to have Ivan so much as he wished Ivan would let him take him with his full knowing. Such things just couldn't be however, not without Ivan knowing. And what if he denied him? Then Ivan might hate him, since that was technically rape. The Russian hadn't consented after all, and he didn't even know it had happened. He thought that the boys were asleep and he relieved some sexual tension. Nothing wrong with _that_ per-say, but Alfred had done everything wrong. He thought that being so close to the other would make him conform to their distance for a little, but he wanted to sleep the Ivan's bed, _now_. He wanted to wake up to Ivan's peaceful face, _now_. He wanted to kiss Ivan, _NOW_.

But how should he go about it? It wasn't like he could go up to his teacher and suddenly start making out with him and expect everything to be okay. He needed help on how to formulate his confession. Past experiences aside.

* * *

Ivan had the strangest dream the night before, and it bothered him the next morning. He dreamed of Alfred, which was highly unprofessional, and they were doing _naughty_ things together. He dreamed that his student sucked him off before pounding hint his hole. He dreamed of kissing the teenager and submitting to his wishes as the warm caresses covered over his body. It was a very disturbing dream, but even more disturbing was the fact that he _enjoyed every moment of it._

* * *

**A/N: I hope you don't mind the fact that it is EXTREMELY SHORT. I made up for it with sex, okay? Okay. Thank you~ Please review. Not many people reviewed on my last lemony scene, so now my self-confidence is going doooooown the tube.**


	4. Chapter Four: Chance

**A/N: Here's part of the side-story, integrated so keenly into this story. XD IDK it fits alright I guess. XD And we miss nothing of Alfred and Ivan's relationship. Whoot for me~! And you guys have no clue what I go through to write this stuff XD My mom was about ready to kill me and I had to lie out my ass. XD And to The Fujoshi, I stole some of your sex XD I'm sorry.**

* * *

"_Bonjour?"_ the voice asked as the phone was picked up. Alfred worried his bottom lip as he heard his Papa's reply. How to explain this without letting on that it was Mr. Braginsky.

"Hi, Papa."

"_Oh mon dieu, how did you get our number this time?"_

Alfred chuckled nervously, "I saw it when Dad gave it to Ivan. Um, I wanted your help with something actually. And PLEASE don't tell Dad I called. He'd kill me. I know this is supposed to be like a second honeymoon and all, but I seriously need your help."

He heard a heavy sigh on the other end, _"What is it this time mon cher. I certainly hope you didn't set Ivan's house on fire."_

"That was an accident!" he whined, "And it isn't that. It's about someone from school. I really like them and I want to tell them, but I don't want to make it awkward or anything. So how do I confess without getting rejected and the entire relationship becoming an awkward, muddled mess?"

"_Oh, you want help with amour. Well Alfred, persistence is key to having a successful relationship. It may start out rocky depending on the personality of you significant other, but as time passes, it becomes your life. Your love shall be an extension of you and the feeling goes both ways. When you kiss, there should be that warm feeling that bursts inside your chest, if there isn't one, then they were just not meant for you."_

Wow, his dad could be corny. Still, he understood what the other was telling him. It was sort of like a sixth sense, knowing where the other was instinctually, knowing when they were upset, if they were in trouble, and when they wanted you with them. Alfred was already in that stage. He just _knew_ when Ivan wanted to watch television with him, or to go outside and play catch with the baseball. They were in tune to each other's feelings and needs, but would Ivan understand the feelings as well?

"That helps a lot Papa," Alfred chirped, still in thought, "That's all. I won't call again. Promise. Bye!"

* * *

Francis placed the phone on its cradle and slumped back into the bed of the hotel they were staying at. The body beside him muttered incoherently before cuddling up against the Frenchman, limbs thrown over his bare torso as the other hugged him half-conscious. "Who was it?" Arthur yawned, laying his head on the other's chest, sighing contentedly.

"Alfred. He wanted help with a situation and he needed advice. I think he made a good decision. I am the Master _de l'amour, non_?"laughed as the other smacked his pectoral harshly. Not at the comment, but because when he said it, he fondled the other's ass.

"You already had your way with me," Arthur grumbled, "Stop wanting more you horn dog."

"Ah, but on our first honeymoon we were at it every hour of the day."

"Yeah, and I was twenty-nine. I'm old now, so stop," the Englishman hissed, though his warnings didn't deter the other. "Why ever did I save your bloody arse on that beach?"

"Because it was your duty. Whatever happened next was simply convenience," the taller blond laughed again.

* * *

_**Francis looked out, back to the beach where the remaining French troops were stranded. He pitied them, no doubt about that, but no way did he feel so bad as to offer to trade places. He had been part of the French Rear-Guard that had been pushed onto the outskirts of Dunkirk on the beach. Overhead the final RAF aeroplanes escorted them to England. He was more than relieved to have a meal in relative peace and a calm smoke.**_

_**He stepped off the carrier onto dry land, just about ready to kiss it. "Ah, mon dieu, how I missed solid ground!"**_

_**The blond behind him gave a chuckle, "Francis, you do realize that you would have been crying for a boat if you had never been rescued, right?"**_

"_**Oh you are such a kill-joy Giliam. And correction, I may not be alive if I hadn't jumped on that yacht. If that had happened, your life would have become a thousand times more boring."**_

_**The Belgian scoffed, "Nice to know you found a place in this world for yourself."**_

_**By this time they were walking pass the hanger where the RAF landed their planes. The last pilot pulled in and turned off the motor before jumping out of the cockpit. Francis had never been so close to an aeroplane, so they interested him vaguely, but the pilots look so fine in their uniforms, especially the small one that was now leaving the hanger. It looked like a fairytale. The sun behind the young man as he pulled off his helmet to show off brilliant blond which he shook out in what seemed like slow motion. He had sexy green eyes that put emeralds to shame and such smooth, pale skin. His corn silk hair glowed like a halo around his head and Francis knew exactly why this man was a pilot, because he was a fallen angel that God sent to earth as punishment for being too beautiful.**_

"_**Giliam?" the Frenchman sighed, off in dreamland, "I think I have died and gone to **__**Ciel."  
**_

"_**Yeah, I kind of figured you'd speak some nonsense like tha- Hey!" the other soldier hissed as he noticed his companion floating after the RAF pilot. He huffed and crossed his arms. Francis was so stupid, but he may as well watch the show.**_

"_**Ah, Mon amour!" the love-sick Frenchman called out to the retreating back of the British pilot who, ironically, turned around at the call. He caught up to the shorter man and almost fell to pieces, "Oh mon cher, where have you been all my life! Better yet, how have I survived without your beauty?" He rushed forward to capture the flustered Brit in a hug, and perhaps a kiss.**_

_**Only to be stopped short by a mean right hook to the jaw. "What the bloody hell are you doing you damned frog! What in tha name of God are you doing!"**_

_**The others around the scene who knew Francis snickered while others laughed at the sheer stupidity of the scene. Giliam sighed and stepped forward, "I'm sorry, he's been delusional since birth."**_

"_**Well keep the frog away from me! Last thing I need is warts."**_

"_**Ah, but mon cher, frogs don't have warts, you are think of a toad," Francis piped up cheerfully, regardless of the purple bruise forming on his jaw bone.**_

_**The Englishman scowled, "I knew that frog! Pity I didn't break your jaw, but since you're still here," he crackled his knuckles, "how about we correct that?"**_

_**Francis was still seeing angels singing hymns from above and the pure perfection of the other, "As long as I get to stay near you mon ange." Oh he did not miss the blush that dusted the other's cheeks as he set his mouth in a nervous line, his bottom lip protruding in a childish pout.**_

_**Before getting his lights knocked out**_**.**

* * *

"_Je t'aime, mon cher. Ne personne d'autre que toi. Tu, qui es mon ange qui a été levée du ciel parce-que le dieu a était jaloux avec ton visage rayonnant__,_" Francis muttered into the blond locks as the other suckled softly on his collarbone. He moaned gently, massaging the other's scalp encouragingly as the Englishman marked his pale skin with nips and sucks before licking it apologetically, though Francis knew it wasn't so.

Arthur's half-lidded emerald eyes gazed lovingly into cyan, "_Te amo toto corde_," he smirked playfully, "_Etiam si stultus._"

"Ah, Arthur, you can be so mean," Francis wailed in over dramatization. To end the conversation, the Englishman crushed their lips together. Both were men, both were soldiers; they fought for dominance with a clash of tongues and teeth instead of artillery and tanks. Francis smirked into the other's lips, knowing already that he would win. His fingers swept lightly over a long, jagged scar that ran down Arthur's left side, causing him to moan and allowing the Frenchman to invade and explore every courner of his mouth as though he didn't already have it mapped by heart.

To even the score, Arthur thrust his hips forward into his partner's, who heartedly pushed back with a heavy groan. Their hands entangled themselves in each other's hair and explored their lover's body that they knew so well as they grinded into each other.

* * *

Alfred thought over what his Papa had told him and tossed the idea in his head. Persistence he had, but if Ivan turned him down on the first go, well . . . he'd rather crawl under a rock and die some pitiful death. If Ivan said maybe, well hell yeah, he'd keep it up. He'd come bouncing back and showing the teacher with any and all forms of affection. Besides, Alfred already knew of the fireworks. He had felt them, so Ivan _had_ to be his. He was so certain.

He frowned as he stared blankly at the television that he and his brother had been watching in the guest room. Well, Mattie was watching it anyway. The younger twin seemed bent on ignoring his brother at all costs, which was just fine because he didn't want his brother knowing about what he did with Mr. Braginsky as the elder man slept. He was a little ashamed of it, but he could push pass that. He suddenly swung his lags off the bed and headed out the door.

"Where you going?" Matthew called worried, hoping his brother was going to do something stupid.

"Going to the bathroom."

Yeah, he was going to do something stupid.

* * *

Now what he was saying wasn't a total lie, he was heading towards the bathroom, just across the hall from it. He could feel the Russia on the other side. That was the extension Francis had talked about, the natural _knowing_ of the other. He could almost feel him, the heat in his arms was nothing more than a ghost, but he could swear it was real. He reached forward and laid his hand on the door knob . . . only to freeze. Wait, he didn't know how he would do this! What could he do? How could he pull this off in a very un-awkward, or at least the minimally awkward, way?

'_Think with your heart,'_ his Papa's voice echoed in his head. Okay, not really, that would have been seriously cliché. But he did think of that on his own, which was still kind of cliché, but not as bad as the previous one. Pretty much, whatever happened happened, great plan. He rolled his eyes sarcastically before taking a deep, steadying breath. He counted to three, and turned the knob gently. Despite wanting to fly in like he normally did anywhere else, he slowly pushed the door open to find his teacher at the desk, his back turned to him as he worked over the last tests they had taken. He didn't even seem to realize the other was there. The second his toe inched pass the threshold, his mind just stopped. He didn't tell his feet to move, but they did. He didn't tell himself to stop directly behind the Russian man who only came up to his chest as he sat, but he did. And he defiantly didn't tell his arms to wrap around his teacher's shoulders, but he did.

He felt Ivan stiffen in his grasp, surprised by the other's abrupt appearance. He turned his head at an upward angle to see what Alfred wanted while a finger helped guide him while his other hand cupped his pink dusted cheek. The other's touch sent shivers down his spine and resurfaced the dream he had the night before. Alfred gazed deeply into violet eyes, as though seeing into the very recesses of his mind, the all-knowing gaze sending chills through him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, instead, his voice was smothered by two lips pressed lightly against his own. Alfred didn't kiss him hard like he thought he would have, he wanted Ivan to want this too, not to force him into it through raw domination.

He had his eyes open a quarter to see the other's reaction, though he felt the warmth explode in his chest. Ivan's eyes widened with shock at the kiss, and the American watched as the surprised gleam faded and the eyes slowly drooped down before the Russian lightly pressed back. Their lips began moving in unison, and Ivan turned to have better access to the other who gently ran his tongue over his bottom lip, requesting entrance. With little hesitation, he parted them and felt the warm muscle invade his mouth and massage his tongue. He wrestled back, knowing full well the younger would overpower him, but enjoying the game all the same. Their tongues danced and twisted about each other until they couldn't tell which belonged to whom.

Alfred broke the kiss for air, his hand that rested on his cheek held him in place as they looked into each other's eyes. Ivan's lavender eyes were innocently wide and open, like an open book. He felt that warmth as well. Alfred wanted to kiss him harder, savor his taste, but then he looked away, the light in his eyes dimming as he shied away from him. Panic rose in the teenager's chest as he felt an almost tangible wall being woven between them. His heart pounded in his ears and he redirected the teacher's gaze to his own.

"Alfred," the Russian sighed, and Alfred knew that tone. It was a tone that his parents used on him when they knew the next thing would be disappointing. "This . . . is wrong, Alfred."

He shook his head slowly, gaining momentum, "No, no. Ivan."

The Russian man looked down and clasped his hands on his lap, "Alfred-."

"Ivan," he whispered, gently forcing the other to face him, "I know you're older than me, and we're both . . . men. But did it _feel_ wrong? Regardless of everything else."

He could see him cracking. Alfred could see that _'yes'_ in his eyes and how it sat tantalizingly on his tongue, but then the door closed again, but not as tightly as before. He could see he had a foothold. "Alfred, you have to understand-."

"Yes or no, and don't lie."

Ivan looked down once more, but muttered something unintelligible which caused Alfred to kneel before him, looking up encouragingly with a small smile to urge him on. He enjoyed the heavy blush on the other's face as he shrunk behind his scarf. "Ittshfelmtret."

Alfred chuckled and pulled down the fabric, "I can't hear you."

"Yes," he groaned embarrassed, "it felt right, but Alfred-."

"Then please give it a chance Ivan," he spoke in a near whisper, grasping the pale white hands that rested on the other's lap. "How do you know if you never try? Who cares what anyone else says? We _know_ it's right, we are the only ones who need to know. And I'll be seventeen in three months or so, that only leaves one more year and then we won't have to hide it. I'd be an adult."

"But what would others think? I am your teacher."

He pecked the peach colored lips gently, "Damn them and their thoughts. You and I are the only ones who matter."

* * *

Matthew was becoming nervous. What was his brother up to? In all honesty, what damage could Alfred do that caused him to be MIA for the past, he glanced at the time, half hour? Surely he didn't get himself into such a big mess that he would be missing for so long. Just in case, since this was Alfred who he was talking about; Alfred who had talked him into sliding down the hill on a piece of cardboard when he was nine, Alfred, he decided to check up on the older twin. For being the older of the two, the blue-eyed brother got into moiré trouble. Luckily they weren't anywhere near the same . . . most of the time.

* * *

"Alfred, are you sure about this? You can't very well regain your virginity after giving it up, and you're so young I d-." He was cut off by lips crushing themselves against his own and he melted again. Oh how this teenager made his heart pound and any resolve he wanted to place up melt before it was even fully constructed, like ice on a hot summer day . . . on a metal pan. He relaxed into the comforter of the bed as the kiss deepened slightly, a hand resting on his cheek

Alfred pulled back to look into those half-lidded, unsure lilac eyes and taking in the slightly parted lips that made a small _'O'_. He smiled, brushing his thumb over the Russian's blushing cheek, "You have no clue how long I've wanted to have you. To me, this has been a long time coming."

"To you kids, time is nothing. I should know," he smirked playfully, "I _was_ one."

Alfred laughed, his hands slowly undoing the teacher's buttoned shirt, "Stop that, you make yourself sound as old as my dad, and that just gives some bad mental images." Ivan opened his mouth to speak, but it came out as a hiss as chilled hands made themselves comfortable on his chest. He arched into it, finding the heat difference arousing to a degree. He smiled softly; Alfred had been taking pleasure in cutting him off lately, a show of dominance by the other that he knew well from being in the military.

The blonde teen pulled his shirt over his head, wearing nothing but the tee shirt he wore to bed the night before. He leaned forward, talking the other's mouth once again, their tongues wrapped up with each other as timid arms wrapped around his neck and latched at the nape, those pale fingers tangling themselves in his hair. He ran his hands over the Russian's frame, feeling him squirm as he ran over a ticklish spot. Feeling a form of sadism, he continued dancing over the spot, not allowing the other to escape the kiss. Ivan's fidgeting increased as he whimpered into the other's mouth, his hands still held around the American's neck, though they shivered from the self-control it took to not grabbed at the boy's arms to make him stop. He would let Alfred have his way; it _was_ his first time after all. Still, as his assault over the sensitive skin continued, the ashen haired man couldn't help how his hips bucked into the teens. At least it stopped his attack. Alfred even pulled back to catch his breath as Ivan did the same, saliva dribbling from the courner of his mouth. His eyes were closed and his chest heaving as air filled his lungs, not realizing the effect he had on the teen.

Alfred was now painfully hard, and all from a simply thrust. It was a little embarrassing, but he wanted more, he wanted the other coming to his name as he pounded into him. Alfred promptly took the other's flushed skin that expanded across his chest between his teeth sucking and nipping, coercing sweet moans from the other who tangled his hands back in the blond locks with even more vigor, the teen's fingers tweaking the hard nubs he had been fantasizing about his first night watching his teacher undress. Taking the distraction for all it was worth, Alfred unfastened the buttons of the other's pants, fumbling them down to above the knees and palmed the other's half-hard penis.

Ivan gasped and bucked into the warmth that pressed lustily against his cock. He moaned as it massaged his member to full erection, his back arching into the body above him. He was like putty in the boy's hands. Alfred groaned in pleasure as he felt the throbbing pulse of the length in his hand as he pushed against it, still confined in the other's undergarment. Alfred pulled down the rim, enough for the member to peek out. The heated air caressing the exposed head as precum slid down. Alfred pulled away to admire the other, half naked, his pants about his knees and his twitching cock poking out from his boxers. That wasn't counting the bruise he left on the other's left pectoral. He would see it every time he got undressed. He would know the American owned him, and he would know they were meant to be. Then Ivan's face, flushed in pleasure as he panted heatedly. The American pulled fumbled with his own pants before kicking them off, accompanied by his boxers that made a pile with their shirts on the ground, his aching erection exposed to the air.

Ivan eyed the teen's cock, seeing that it was the same length as his own, but slightly wider. He groaned in want as he imagined that penis inside of him, thrusting in and out with all his might. He felt a heated burn at his entrance as he continued picturing all that they could do, but it being the boy's first time, they would most likely stick to something simple. And it _had_ be a while since Ivan had been pounded into, like a nine-year-while. Alfred took the initiative and pulled the other's remaining clothes off and discarding them with his own clothes on the floor. Ivan took his newly acquired freedom to spread his legs wantonly, hooking his arms around his calves to keep them raised, and his hips pushed forward to give a clear view of his ring of muscles that twitched in expectation. That mixed with the half-lidded, pleading eyes accented by the pleasured blush. Oddly enough, the other's scarf that was still wrapped comfortably around the man's neck made the scene all the more alluring. He looked absolutely delicious.

Alfred placed three fingers at his teacher's mouth who took them and sucked them sensually; coating them thickly in saliva while the blond rolled his balls with his other hand. He loved watching how the other's body reacted as he hit his sweet spots. The ashen haired man would gasp and whimper and moan as his legs shuddered in the air and his grip tightened on his pale calves while his anus clinched. Not able to wait any longer, he pulled his soaked digits out from the orifice and aligned them with the ring of muscles before pushing one in, closely followed by a second. He wasn't too tight, seeing as how he stretched himself the night before, but damn was he hot. The heat that engulfed his fingers caused him to moan softly, along with Ivan, who bit his lip in both discomfort and pleasure.

Remembering how he saw the other prepare himself the night before, Alfred scissored his fingers and curled them against the inner walls, earning gasps and moans of encouragement. Not thinking much, other than how to please the man below him further, he experimented with his tongue, adding his third digit and wiggling his tongue in beside them. Ivan's eyes flew open with an outcry as a ribbon of semen ejaculated from his head, covering his chest and a bit of his cheek in the white substance. Alfred felt the muscles tighten around his fingers and tongue as they continued to wiggle around in his hole before the teen pulled back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand that had also been in the other's ass.

"A-Alfred," Ivan moaned, his eyes closed, splotches of his uncontrolled orgasm still speckling his red face. The American leaned forward, licking the cum off of his face, enjoying the taste of the salty substance. Heir lips met and they kissed, deep and slow as Alfred, using the left over saliva from his tongue molesting the other's hole and hoping it was enough, he pushed in. Ivan groaned uncomfortably, and squirmed, though attempting to force himself to relax. Alfred didn't notice his partner's discomfort, and pushed in more into that raw heat, panting as he tried not to cum too soon. But oh god did it feel good. Once he was in to the hilt, he noticed tears at the edges of Ivan's eyes. He caressed his lover's cheek. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"_N-nyet_," Ivan gasped, shuddering as he adjusted, "I-I just need to get used to it. G-give me a moment." Once his breathing evened, he nodded in an almost jerking motion, "_D-da_, I'm ready."

With another kiss, Alfred pulled out slowly until he was half way in and pushed back at the same pace. It wasn't long until Ivan was whining for him to move faster, push deeper. He practically impaled himself farther on the other's cock and the teen moaned as he buried himself in balls-deep, passionately kissing his partner. Ivan panted heavily and arched his back in need, struggling to keep his leg raised when he suddenly saw stars. Alfred pounded directly into his prostate.

"Th-THERE!" he screamed, precum beading at his head. Alfred positioned himself to pound into the bundle of nerves straight on, pumping his teacher's cock with one of his hands. Ivan peaked first, crying out as he came hard into the other's hand and Alfred, not expecting the sudden clinching of the muscles, followed immediately after, shooting his seed into the other's hole.

Alfred collapsed on his lover, yes _lover_, and caught his breath, his cock softening inside the one below him who was gasping for breath. They lay like that until the teen pulled his limp member out and watched in fascination as the white substance dribbled out of the stretched hole and onto the blankets. "Alfred," Ivan whined, holding his arms out to the other. Alfred leaned down again, only to be flipped onto his side and held tightly, the elder male burying his face in his neck, "Please hold me."

A smile graced his lips as he held on to his love, "I will never let you go."

* * *

Matthew turned away, shell-shocked to the utter core of his being. He had gone to find his brother only to see he was fucking their teacher's brains out while the Russian man enjoyed every bit of it. He hadn't meant to stay and watch, he just couldn't move, and then he got his own _problem_ to deal with. Why couldn't they have closed the door all the way either! Mattie's mouth was set in a stiff line ad he stemmed his nosebleed with his shirt. He would have to address this arrangement with Alfred soon. _Very soon._

* * *

**A/N: I want to whole heartedly thank Mizuni-no-neko for her beloved French translation~! I also want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my story and those who spent even more reviewing. I cannot thank you enough~! I also wanted to inform my readers that today (Dec. 31) I am 16 and any reviews/comments I take happily as a wonderful B-day present~! ^^ Thank you again~!**


	5. Chapter Five: War

_He was outside that day; it was just any other day, coming home from school and being told how wonderful and great Comrade Stalin was. In all honesty, he didn't see anything great in the man, other than him being a powerful leader, there was little to love about him. He lived in a grander style than his people, though he spouted the gospels of equality to all. Sadly, some were more equal than others. He didn't go straight home every day; many times he meandered around the city, taking time to pick up Natalya from daycare. The aeroplanes weren't silent as they flew overhead, nor were their swastikas hidden in bashful regret. They were proud and strong as they swooped low, a little after three in the afternoon on a peaceful August day. It was as though the entire world went deaf in those few moments. A little after three in the afternoon on a peaceful August day, his entire world was blown to the ground._

_The fires engulfed the buildings and the ground shook with chaos. He lost balance and stumbled to his knees. Women screamed in fear, men shouted in shock, and children cried and wailed. Buildings caught fire, people burned, the air filled with smoke. He stood frozen for one moment before his mind rebooted to the sense of urgency. Natalya. He forced his tense muscles to respond, standing with a slight shake before running in the direction of his sister. The buildings, as he came closer, were more and more damaged. Some were even flat. But the daycare was half-standing. Smoke writhed from the wreckage, the entire street eerily silent. His heart pounded into his throat, there were no children to be found._

"_Natalya! Natalya! Natasha! It's Vanya!" he called, getting closer, his feet stumbling a little on the debris that littered the road, "Natasha! Answer me!" He contemplated for a mere moment of entering the building before he smelt the gas. The whole place could blow if the fire from the surrounding architecture came too close. Tears pricked his eyes, but hell he would give up yet. Dropping to his hands and knees, he inched into small opening, searching for any sign of life. Maybe they went on a fieldtrip, or they were out at the park to play. Maybe no one was here at all and he was risking his life for nothing, because Natalya was safe in a basement somewhere. His fingertips grazed something soft and warm. His hand pulled back for a second, his mind running rampant. Was it a toy, maybe a doll? Or was it an arm; Natalya's arm, blown off her shoulder from the impact? His stomach heaved and bile coated his mouth. He spat the foul fluids to the ground and forced himself to grip the object of before, tugging gently. It was heavy, that couldn't be Natalya . . . but nor was it a doll. He crawled closer, despite the burning of his lungs because of the eking gas. In the dim light of the high sun seeping through the cracks of the wreckage he made out a foot without a shoe, a leg (the thing he had grabbed earlier) which leg to a bare thigh of a small girl, her dress lifted over her waist, exposing her undergarments to the world, not that she would mind his peeping, for her body ended there._

_He couldn't hold back his lunchtime meal after that, he wretched directly beside the body, his limbs shaking and taut from strain. It wasn't Natalya, it wasn't Natalya. This girl wore a red dress with a pink lace bottoming. His sister had worn a blue dress with white and a matching pale bow on her head. This wasn't her. _

"_Natasha?" he sang into the dark, "Vaniushka is here to pick you up. N-Natasha."_

"_We're down here," a faint voice called from deeper into the dark. It was followed by more small voices calling to him as kittens stranded in a box. He knew that voice and his heart skipped a beat. He focused on the small chorus of voices, ignoring the corpses that didn't have the time to make it to the basement. The door was open and he could barely make out the four pairs of large, watery eyes._

"_Vaniushka!" a small girl who looked like his female clone with tears in her blue eyes cried out and scrambled out of the ditch, crawling to him faster than if she had ran. She clung to his jacket with a vice-grip and sobbed into the cloth, "Vaaaanyaaa!"_

_The other children followed her lead, tackling him and crying. They were scared. Three boys and his little sister, those were the only survivors. He held them close, but none closer than his sibling, "Shh, it'll be alright. Follow me children. We'll get out of here. Don't look around, keep staring straight ahead." The last thing he wanted for any of them to do was see their friends and fellow peers with their limbs blown off. The children readily agreed, as though he had threatened to leave them there if they didn't._

"_Mr. Vanya, what is that bad smell?" one boy with brown hair asked timidly, tears still choking his voice._

"_Gas, we need to get out of here before they drop more bombs." He knew they weren't asking about that smell. They were wondering about the smell of decay that claimed ownership of the premises. "Remember, just look to me. Don't let your gaze wander."_

"_Natalya! Are you there? Oh, Natalya!" a voice floated through the gloom from the outside. Both of the siblings recognized the high curtail of the voice and how the speech pattern sang and sobbed at the same time._

"_Katyusha!" Natalya shouted, crawling faster, "I'm coming sister!"_

_They finally reached the opening, Natasha pushing pass the others to tackle her sister in a death grip, her drying tears renewed with relief. Iva was next and the taller sibling sighed in utter bliss, both her brother and sister were safe and sound. He three boys all huddled around the middle child, not knowing where to go or what to do. Katyusha's tears were full of joy as she stroked Natalya's hair, "I'm so glad you are both safe. I came here as quickly as I could. Everyone is panicking. The Germans have reached Stalingrad."_

_Engines whined in the mid-heavens, and they all ducked down, fearing another bombardment. The scattered aeroplanes flew just as low to the ground, but the red stars on the sides gleamed brilliantly. Despite himself, he whooped loudly and cheered, his sisters and the three boys joining in. The streets were filled with scattered civilians, cheering on as the children for their pilots to take on the Nazi bombers. His violet eyes burned with pride. Ivan knew where his heart lay._

* * *

_Crunching through snow in the ruined city, he and other children from his classes ran swiftly through the snow. They were young, the oldest being seventeen, the youngest, Ivan, being fifteen. November and the Germans were attempting to dig their feet in before General Winter came. What the Germans did know was that General Winter brought their reinforcements with him; his infantry of wailing winds that rained demoralizing bullets of snow that never lost provisions. As it was, the Germans they had slipped by were praying, willing the snows back so they could continue on with their mission their deranged leader sent them on._

_The children took morbid delight in giggling at the miserable soldiers, way out of their league in this fight. They knew one thing, and they knew it well, if they lasted to winter, they would win. Napoleon was the greatest proof of all. His failure to take them back during the days when continental Europe had fallen to ash under his boots had made Russia the greatest world power, the country with the best Navy, thanks to Great Peter, and the strongest people the world renown. That was to the Motherland herself; no leader could have bred stronger peoples._

_They reached their target, an encampment with a few German Tigers milling about, waiting for their next engagement into battle. The few Germans walking about swore in their own language, their faces consorted into ugly grimaces from their misfortune of being sent into such a desolate wasteland. If only they knew the beauty and power that came from the Motherland. If only they knew how thick her blood was, how strong her bones were, how unbreakable her spirit was. Using lighters they set the cloths on fire, the Molotov Cocktails burning brightly._

_This fire was her skeleton_

_They tossed the bombs against the Panthers, being well aware of their weakest points due to their months of practice._

_His body was her blood._

"_FOR THE MOTHERLAND!"_

_His voice was her spirit._

* * *

He heard something. What was that? Giggling? Who was giggling, it was too early for this playfulness. Alfred wasn't exactly a morning person either, so what was with all the laughter?

"He's so cute when he's asleep," a voice cooed.

Another giggle, who chuckled this much, Alfred didn't . . . too often. "I say our entire class period should be watching Mr. Braginsky sleep. He looks really tired. I wonder why."

Why had he been staying up late again?

* * *

_Moans and gentle sighs, fingers teasing his twitching cock that wept with need of stimulus. Oh how he wanted fuck that hand whose thumb grazed over the very tip, pushing tauntingly against the slit. Tears in his eyes as he moaned helplessly, his hands tied to the headboard and waist held down by his own student._

"_A-Alfred," he mewled softly repeating the name like a ritual to an occult spell of sin and pleasure._

_A dark chuckle floated as a dark cloud in the pitch room, "Shhh, Mattie will hear you. Be a good boy and I'll give you a good grade Mr. Braginsky."_

* * *

His eyes fluttered open, half-lidded and a half hard member nudged against his pants. He looked up, tired, but turned on nonetheless. The girls giggled louder, hiding their grins behind their hands.

"_Chto_?" a small trail of saliva etched a river against his skin. The class erupted into laughter.

* * *

Matthew worried his bottom lip, maybe he hadn't gotten to Alfred like he said he would. And maybe he had actually run to Gilbert for advice and . . . help. And that had been two weeks ago! The younger felt like curling up and dying from how cowardly he was. Every time he had attempted to broach the subject, something always got in the way.

* * *

"_Alfred, we need to talk," Matthew sighed as he looked to his brother who was rummaging through the drawers of the room Ivan had given them._

"_Yeah sure."_

_Well that was easy._

"_But I'm leaving right now, so you'll need to get back to me. Baseball practice with the guys."_

* * *

"_Alfred we MUST talk about this."_

_Alfred looks up from wood shop, a saw in his hand, he holds it up and smiles, "What would that be about?"_

_Scary! Danger! Run!_

"_N-nothing! It can wait!"_

* * *

"_I'm going over to Ivan's!"_

"_Alfred!" Matthew whined, becoming impatient, "You never have time for-."_

"_Bye!" The door closed on his face._

* * *

It was official. Alfred was the worst brother in the world. And he was screwing their teacher! How could no one else see how Alfred shifted in his seat with a bulge forming in his trousers as he watched their teacher with a look that could only be described as predatory? Poor Mr. Braginsky had to put up with a horny teenager every other day! Alfred practically lived over there now! He had some clothes left in that house, even a pillow. More importantly, the pillow was in Ivan's room, and it was his FAVORITE pillow. This was getting ridiculous. Matthew had heard of double lives, but this was just wrong, so wrong. Wasn't the Russian a grown adult? What was he doing with a teen like Alfred: Irresponsible and one to think with his other head? As it was, Alfred's sleepovers were impairing their teacher more than himself, which was unfair to Mr. Braginsky, the student body, Mr. Beilschmidt, the entire balance of life was being gypped all because his brother was a total horn dog!

* * *

Ivan couldn't walk around the classroom, his limp was a little more prominent due to Alfred's rough treatment the night before, but it had been worth it at the time. That wasn't debatable. And sitting caused a slight discomfort through his spine, but he was becoming used to the alternating tender and mean encounters, but of course it wasn't all sex. That was what helped him know that this wasn't just Alfred's hormones. They would actually spend most of their time watching television or talking, or they would sit side by side and hold hands while reading their own books. But life wasn't that easy, was it? That Hungarian woman surely made it harder.

* * *

_Ivan was returning to his home, the twins and their Papa already in their own respective house after a long school day. There were more parents who wanted him gone than he had thought, but propaganda flowed like blood through society. He had walked home that day, telling the twins not to wait for him and that he would be staying late to finish other work which was actually nonexistent. She had been in her garden across the street when the confrontation occurred._

* * *

He shook his head. He wouldn't dwell on that now. He was a teacher. He smiled warmly to the class, a blush still on his cheek from the small trail of drool the children had taken great pride in pointing out. The kids were still laughing and chattering amongst themselves, "Alright everyone, let's focus, alright. Today we'll be learning about World War One."

"Ivan?" Alfred asked as they lay on the couch. The elder man was uncharacteristically silent, despite how Alfred's went a mile a minute. Often the teacher would respond accordingly, or ask for a repeat when he missed something. The distant gaze told him the Russian's mind was focused inwardly and it bothered him. Ivan looked upset, and no one made him lose that wonderfully baby-like smile.

The ashen haired man blinked away from whatever topic had preoccupied him and smiled sweetly to his student/lover, "Yes Alfie? What's the matter?"

"What's been bothering you? You aren't yourself lately."

'_Many things have been weighing on my mind Alfred: parents, students, other staff members, and my sisters. How are my sisters faring in this dark time? How is Natalya faring in school? Does Katyusha have a husband and children, despite her arm? Am I an uncle with a brother-in-law or is he hurting her and taking advantage of her sweet personality and caring demeanor?'_

"No, nothing at all," he smiled sweetly.

Alfred frowned. He understood why, he understood that his partner was a withdrawn man when it came to fears or sadness. However, Alfred couldn't help but think_ 'Liar'_! He wouldn't say it though, it would hurt Ivan too much, and he didn't want the other to feel guilty while being around him. "It's alright," he smiled, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt. A small silence settled between them before Alfred opened his mouth again, "I know we aren't in class, but can you teach me about World War Two?"

"Well," Ivan began, "It wasn't too long ago, but there are a lot of things that are still shrouded to the general public, and probably will always be. The cause of the second war wasn't because the Germans voted Hitler into office though. It went back to before then, after the First World War actually. The Treaty of Versailles was not a treaty at all, but a contract of punishment and servitude to Germany. It left them in a hole of debt that they couldn't see salvation. Hitler used the despair of the people to rise to power. Despite his "insanity" as we call it, he did help Germany. He brought back the economy, he restored a social norm. He brought Germany back to power when the people thought it would disappear. The world hailed him "Man of the Year" for saving a country single handedly. Then the war started, no one questioned him as Germany swallowed up the smaller countries in lightning war. It wasn't until Poland was attacked that the Allies realized the danger that Europe now faced."

"What about you in Russia?"

Ivan smiled thoughtfully, "At the time it was nothing. My father went to Poland and I was twelve at the time, living in Stalingrad by the Volga River. It was a major production site of Russia's military power. My sister Katyusha was seventeen. She's four years my senior and her birthday is in August. She worked part time to ensure that we had food and clothing, as well as going to school and making sure we did as well. She is truly an amazing woman."

"Stalingrad, that was were one of the more important battles happened, right?" Alfred asked playfully, he knew that already.

Sadly, Ivan didn't smile, his eyes took on that look that he had seen at the dinner table those few months ago. "Yes. It was." His voice was hollow, it hurt Alfred by how dry and empty it was.

"What happened?" his voice nothing but a whisper, but his teacher heard him.

"It didn't start out like some would expect. It was a normal day and I was returning home from school. August twenty-third, nineteen forty-two. It was three-eighteen in the afternoon and I was walking around the city. It was a warm day and Natalya was in daycare. Father died in Finland, so it was just my sisters and I. I doubted my allegiance to Stalin, to the Union. Then the planes arrived and set the sky on fire. That was the first day I saw a dead person. It was a small girl; her dress was red and pink." His eyes widened, "Her hair had been brown and she had the most playful green eyes. She loved to dance with Natalya, they had been best friends, always playing and running around together. She used to wear a red hat with the gold star embroidered into the soft fabric.

"The city was gone in five days, almost completely leveled to the ground and foundation it had been constructed on. We organized, elderly would ferry supplies to us from over the Volga. We constructed bridges that lay just under the surface so no one could see them. It was like walking on water. Natalya and the smaller children helped with caring for the wounded. She was a perfect little nurse, serious, but genuinely caring. Yekaterina was with the other women." His voice trailed off.

"Nursing?" Alfred asked, that was what the women did in Western Europe and America. They were nurses.

Ivan shook his head, "No, they sniped from the remaining buildings, some going into full on shootouts in the street with the Germans. Yekaterina promised me she would stay out from the open; we lost more people that way. But they brought in the _Panthers_ that fired on the buildings our women were in. Katyusha lost an arm in combat, debris from a higher level falling on her and causing too much damage to save her limb. Me, I was with the other teens. We would sneak into enemy lines and destroy the tanks with homemade Molotov Cocktails. I was with a group of six other children, two girls and the rest of us were light on our feet. I watched many of my classmates die and carried them back with me to be buried and honored properly. It was then that I realized something."

"What was that?"

Ivan's eyes took on an even dreamier gaze, if that was at all possible, but pride welled in the irises like tears, "It isn't the leader who makes us. Stalin was proud and would pat himself on the back for his victories, but those victories were _ours'_, that blood was _ours'_. My heart and pride does not lay within a leader or a government, but in the land that I was born on and the blood that flows through my veins. It was not Stalin we fought for, it was _her_. The Mother of us all: the only one who can cry out to her children and rally their hearts with her voice, the only one who can tame the winters. Unconquerable, unyielding; she was always there and I had never realized it until she called my name. Until I answered her.

"'_For the Motherland'_ was the cry. It was for her we died and suffered. Without her we were nothing. It was not for Stalin, it was never for Stalin. He was just some man who lived in Moscow with a name, a face, and an uncaring air. The Mother loved us, protected us, cared for us, and she had always been among us. That was when I realized my heart belonged to the land, not a man."

* * *

He held Ivan close, stroking his teacher's hair lovingly as they lay in the same bed. He told his fathers that he would stay with the Russian for the night from how late their study session had gone. All the things Ivan had said. The little girl he knew with the red dress, his younger sister Natalya, his older sister Katyusha, the German _Panthers_, the group of seven teenagers sprinting through the snow. The Motherland. The blood of the land. He thought back to his dream he had from the first day he had met Ivan as his new teacher.

* * *

_This was in their blood: war and death. It flowed through them like the rapid waters of the Niobara River. . . Their hands clasped together, promising each other for better or for worse. They were brothers and would always be together, no matter what. . . He could hear someone screaming as they were torn apart by a machine gun. . ._

* * *

He had once thought he knew what it meant to fight for one's country. To feel pride for one's blood. But he hadn't even felt the way Ivan looked. He always felt scared when he thought about sacrificing his own future for people he didn't know or perhaps not even care for. Would he fight too, for people without names, without faces? He knew the answer. It was 'No'.

* * *

**A/N: I AM BACK! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I was looking as some pictures over the net and I found one of a statue called "The Motherland" and it made my heart swell. I love reading about Russians because they all fought, not just the soldiers, and everyone had a purpose, and everyone played the part. No leader to organize them, no authority to answer to. It is the Russian people and their proud, strong spirit. It is truly unbreakable.**


	6. Chapter Six: Remember

**A/N: This entire chapter is a WWII flashback. YAY! I just HAD to do this. And, of course, it isn't 100% accurate, but pretty dang accurate. Tell me what you think. This'll be all Ivan, so will the next one be. I just couldn't help myself. Enjoy ^^**

* * *

_Natalya turned at the sound of approaching feet; she recognized the heavy thud of boots two sizes too big. Her brother was lucky to have found them at all, even If they had belonged to a dead man not four days ago. He carried yet another wounded comrade from the front lines; her face was covered in dirt like her brother's and everyone else's. It was hard to tell anyone by face anymore, except for the cleaner, smaller ones like herself who worked as caretakers of the wounded. She rushed over to lead him to the most recently cleared bed._

"_Anitchka," her brother helped with the name, "shot through the left shoulder twice." The girl's left arm did hang lower than the other, limp and by her side with red soaked bandages made from her coat, wrapped tightly around the wounds. Her arm jostled a little as Ivan lay her down and she groaned in pained annoyance. Her partner had numbed the area with snow and ice before carrying her back to alleviate some of the pain._

"_Vanya, you could be more gentle," she growled, her good arm lay gently over her thin abdomen. They were all getting thinner with the lack of supplies coming from the Ukraine._

"_And get caught?" he laughed, though it was hollow, "Not even if it would save your arm."_

_She whined, "Vanya, so mean!"_

"_Sister's awake," Natalya interrupted, glancing coldly at the mucky haired girl on the once-clean bed. She knew the girl was attempting to flirt with her brother, and she would have none of that. Her big brother deserved the best, and this girl wasn't it._

_Ivan's empty eyes lit up and he promptly excused himself before running to the other side of the building, though it was more rubble than anything else. The injured, ill, and dying all lay at his feet, some crying from pain, some groaning in discomfort, others silent in sleep. Perhaps they were dead, perhaps they weren't. He had seen too many deaths in these few months than it really didn't matter to him anymore. Dead, alive, the only difference is that some had a beating heart, others didn't. He plastered on a sweet smile as he came upon his older sisters who was sitting up in her cot, looking to the limp sleeve to her left._

"_Katyusha!" he called happily, sprinting the last few feet before falling beside her with pleading, hopeful eyes._

_As he wanted, she smiled in that motherly way, "Ivan, I've missed you. Where have you been all this time?"_

"_We ambushed another Panther division, we're all alive, but Anitchka was taken by a sniper. She'll be fine though, and I'm pretty sure her arm won't be amputated." An awkward silence settled over them, at the last statement; Yekaterina mourning over her missing limb and Ivan kicking himself for such a stupid comment."So do you think you'll be up to helping out soon?"_

"_Soon, but I don't know what I can do. I can't level a gun without two arms, but we need more," she sighed exasperated. Her brother looked to the floor, his mind turning over. "The Nazis might out number us, and if that happens . . ."_

"_We'll be fine," he assured her with a smile, "And you'll take care of others. You were always more suited for nursing than Natalya."_

_She blinked her blue eyes quizzically at him, "Vaniushka."_

"_Natalya and you will trade. She may be young, but she is just not made to care for humans, especially impaired ones. We both know how she doesn't have the patients to even train a puppy. A gun will fit nicely in her hands."_

"_But she's only five!" Yekaterina shouted, horrified that her brother would even propose such a thing, "She- she'll die!"_

_Ivan shrugged, "It won't make a difference. She watches people die and listens as they scream in pain every day. She has seen too much for her age regardless, and she feels useless here. She knows she can be doing more than we let her, and I think its time that we show her that we are all equal, regardless of race, gender, and age. I'll get one of the veterans to teach her. You can do what you were born to do: Care for others."_

"_No! Ivan! She will not, I do not support this." She struggled to her feet, her black uniform slightly open and her large breasts moved freely under the cloth._

_His violet eyes faded to a near black, "So would you let us all die because you feel she is too young? No one supports you Katyusha, and you're injured. We can simply write you off as delirious. Your words will mean nothing. Then you would be stuck in a locked room, doing nothing, while Natalya takes over as a sniper anyway. So which would you prefer?"_

"_I-Ivan," she felt betrayed, used, her brother was right, but he was also wrong. How could he do this to their sister, to her? She would have cried if this had been before the battle, now, she couldn't find the tears to shed. All she found was a void. She watched as he walked away, pity in her eyes. This war had destroyed him; this war had destroyed them all._

* * *

_He looked out at the once beautiful city; he could still see the people walking in the squares, the new automobiles weaving through the streets, the university, the school still standing proud and tall. He could still feel the eyes of the girls as he walked by, his ears turning red in the memory of it. He remembered the sunshine, the carefree spirit; even the taste of food was lingering on his tongue. He groaned as his stomach ached in want, he hadn't eaten anything substantial for the longest time. The sound of footsteps behind him jolted him into action. He gripped his rifle and swung around. The uniform of a Nazi soldier flashed in his vision and he tensed, almost pulling the trigger._

_The man held up his hands, unarmed, "Ärge tulistage! Ärge!"_

_Ivan blinked in utter surprise. The man had blue eyes behind a pair of corrective glasses on his face and a Nazi band about his arm. The violet irises darkened in wrath as he held the gun even steadier to the man's head. "Traitor! You betrayed the Union! Tell me why should I not blow out your brains?"_

_"I am unarmed," the man explained, converting into Russian, though they both could understand each other regardless of continuity. He placed his hands behind his head, "You can search me. There is a knife in my boot, you can take it."_

_This seemed too easy to the young Russian boy as he inched closer, "Take off the boots."_

"_But it's too cold-."_

"_Take them off! Or I'll shoot them off. Pick one and we'll go with it." After a quick contemplation of his choices, the Nazi kicked off his boots. The knife skittered to the ground, gleaming in the dim light. The man's feet were an unhealthy blue and the last two toes on his left foot were missing, frozen off through frostbite. Ivan approached cautiously and swung his gun over his shoulder, patting down the man, finding nothing more than the knife that lay on the concrete floor, just as he had said. Satisfied and feeling oddly safe with the man, despite him being a traitor, turned his back on his . . . prisoner (?) or whatever this man was now. He threw the boots back, "Put them on quickly, lest you want to lose the other eight toes you have."_

"_Th-thank you," the man stuttered, from cold or surprise Ivan didn't know, and he wasn't so sure he cared._

_Ivan sat back down, away from the edge enough so that German snipers wouldn't be able to pick him off, but close enough to look over the once glorious city. "So why are you snooping around the city unarmed and without backup? That's just too weird."_

"_Well, I can ask why a teenager is up here with a rifle, but knowing you Russians, it's self-explanatory."_

"_What does that mean," he hissed, glaring daggers. Maybe he should have kept those boots, a few more missing digits wouldn't hinder him much more than he was now. "We do not discriminate against age here, which is why we will win this battle and this war."_

"_And in the process kill millions of young lives like yourself, leaving an entire generation with a gaping hole," the man sighed, sitting down next to him. "Tell me, how many in your class have died?"_

_He looked over to the buildings, snow covering every inch of the ruins of this once beautiful city, now it was nothing but death, with bodies lying in the streets, beyond the wreckage, within the buildings. Death and his corpses lingered everywhere, most being taken prisoner by General Winter on both sides. "There are only me and two others from my class. There were once thirty-eight."_

"_So much death, so much waste, it is a pointless war really. Why do you people fight for this city? There is nothing left, nothing for you to use in your current state that is. There is everything for us to gain. Why not surrender? This is Stalin's joy, yes, but he has left you here for dead. He has deserted you."  
_

_Ivan laughed coldly, "You think we do this for Stalin? No, this is not for him; this is for the entirety of Russia. If we lose here, we have lost the war and failed the Motherland. I may not be a soldier, I may not believe in Stalin, but I believe in this war, because this isn't for this lost generation. This is for my little sister, so that she may grow up free and proud."_

"_You have a sister?"_

"_Yes, two of them, one older and one younger, I am the only son, and I love them both very much."_

_The Nazi took a handful of snow and began eating it. It was a common practice of both sides to quench thirst and ward off hunger for a little while longer. "And you don't believe in Stalin? What do you believe in then?"_

"_What is your name?"_

"_Eduard von Bock."_

"_Ivan Braginsky."_

"_It's a privilege," the Estonian grinned, holding his hand out to the teen._

"_That it is," Ivan agreed, shaking firmly through his thick gloves, "This is what I believe in Eduard: That the world may realize someday that our differences are what unite us, and that we all share the same blood."_

_The blue eyed man laughed, but not in a mocking way, "You are quite the idealistic young man. The other guys would be disgusted if they heard that one however."_

"_Do you believe in the bible?"_

"_Of course," Eduard responded, surprised by the boy's sudden change in topic._

"_Then you would believe that the world was destroyed by a flood and only eight souls survived. From those eight we are all born, over a hundred million people on this planet and they all came from that eight. What are the odds that you and I, though so radically different, did not come from the same pair?"_

_Once more the man laughed. He had not had such intelligent conversation in a long time, and the child that he had found was wonderful company. Still, he had to return soon. He wanted to have his mind bended with these abstract ideals and come to know the boy who called himself Ivan a little more. But time was something he couldn't waste anymore of. "Perhaps you can come and join us? Hitler has promised us victory, and there is no denying our superiority in this battle."_

"_Superiority? Do you know what I can't deny? Look down there." He held his hand out over the frozen lands, "I see dead men and women, both Nazis and Soviets, laying side by side. I can deny your superiority, because we are all dying. Aggressors, survivors, we are all victims in this time of blood."_

"_Hopefully you live through this hell."_

_Snow began drifting from the clouds again, when he was young, he loved the snow and building people out of the drifts, now it meant death and hunger. It meant isolation and pain, death and sacrifice. He hated the snow. "Perhaps I will, perhaps I won't. Time will tell all things."_

_He watched the man dodge through the dangerous streets from his vantage point, jumping over ruins of automobiles, walls, and the casualties of war. Frozen bodies and shallow burials half-buried under the snow, soon to be hidden entirely and then thawed in the summer to stink the roads with their bloated corpses and maggot eaten flesh. If this had been but seven months ago, never would he have believed he could live in such a place, especially with no care for those who died or were dying. A flash of German uniform caught the corner of his eyes and he lifted his rifle. He especially would not have believed he could kill without a conscious, but the man fell in an explosion of red._

* * *

_February second, the world stood still. From August to this day the people of Stalingrad, the soldiers of Hitler, both had lived from day to day, not believing that any end was near. Not until they all were dead. Now, the Germans surrendered, Stalin sent reinforcements, and it was over. Natalya was confused, having been sniping from the buildings since December; she didn't understand why no one was firing upon them like slaughtering sheep in a pen. The elder sister was overjoyed, as were those who had been out of the streets for a time. They cheered their victory, hailed the motherland, praised Stalin's name. Ivan could only watch as the soldiers filed by, their hands behind their heads as they walked. His rifle was lax in his grip, the heart to kill was not there, but the need to kill was strong. He had nothing now, no life in this place. The others would stay, would rebuild, they would control the fires in the oil reserves, erect new houses, and bring glory back to the city. He wouldn't. Not after this encounter, this dance with death. He had looked into the creatures white eyes and lived to see his enemies, cold, starved, suffering, walk pass him to despair further in a prison camp._

_His eyes caught the man from before, his blue eyes downcast, his glasses lens cracked. They glanced at each other and Ivan was filled with pity. The soviet POW camps were not anything he would wish upon another living thing. They held no mercy and no laws to protect. He had to save this man, Nazi or not, traitor or not, he was another human being. This man had not put any resistance against him at their first meeting but weeks ago, they had talked, they had connected. They were the same, yet so radically different, on opposite sides of the field. He watched as he continued forward, the man's pride shattered._

* * *

_Once nightfall laid her blanket of utter darkness, the stars smothered under the dark clouds threatening midnight snow, he looked through the temporary residence of the Nazis. Now they had shabby shelters in place from the city's rubble, small, smoke-puffing fires of wet wood dotted the landscape. There were so many compared to Ivan's own people. Around ninety-eight thousand men sat out in the cold, feeling a form of rest for the first time in months. Back inside the temporary establishments of Stalingrad, there were only a little under two thousand. How did they win? It was impossible to fathom as he stepped through the groups of Germans who watched him with wary, tired eyes. He couldn't help them, and a part of him wanted to shoot them all. He mentally stabbed the thoughts, berating himself with a feral growl. He was not supposed to think such thoughts, for they were all men, all humans. As he looked into their strained eyes, he sees things about them he never thought of before._

_That man right there with the heavy beard and green eyes, he has a wife waiting for him at home, to show off their daughter. He misses them dearly and regrets having left into the military, thinking that he would return in time for the birth. Now he feels that he will never get home. His daughter is asleep right now, dreaming whatever dreams an infant fancies. Maybe wondering if she will ever see the man her mother calls "Daddy"._

_The boy under the tarp crying into his hands, he's only twenty-two; he came because he thought this was what glory was. He believed in the fairytales of glory and the propaganda of righteousness that was fed to him, to them all, by lying, cheating, stealing governments. Now that reality set in, the sweet flavor of sugarcoated falsehoods was sour and bitter with mold and reality. He wanted to make his father proud in the war, to give him a reason to praise his child, despite the boy's short comings. And he had a girl he had promised to marry, blonde with clear blue eyes, maybe shy and mousy with a pair of round glasses. Perhaps she thought he was dead, having not heard from him in the longest time. Maybe they were all mourning over him as he was over them._

_He didn't want to see the lives they once had, the lives continuing after their departure. They would haunt him, and he knew it. The thought of hurting any human being now, it was sickening. He almost hurled the rifle that now lay slack in his hands into the snow, wanting to give it to one of the men and tell him to return to his mother, his father, his wife and children. That was not plausible, however. Shouldering the sack he had slung around his back, he kept moving, looking under each before they caught each others' eyes, blue to violet._

_The Estonian stood and wandered over to him, his heavy coat from days ago missing, his lip broken and crusted. He probably lost it in a skirmish among POWs, and it had yet to be an entire day. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with those sisters of yours, where it's warm?"_

"_Walk with me," Ivan commanded and began marching through the drifts as yet more powder danced through the sky, gently settling on the never ending expanse of white._

_He led the Estonian from the other prisoners, from the other guards who simply watched as he pushed Eduard by. They made their way slowly, blindly through the snow, sometimes stumbling over rubble, other times over bodies laying in the snow for a quick rest that became eternity. Once Ivan deemed their surroundings safe, he handed the gun and bag over, "Take this and leave here. The bag contains supplies and a change of clothes, that way you can enter tows without becoming the local target practice. The food should last a day or two. There is also ammo, in case you need to defend yourself from robbers or feral animals."_

"_Why me?" Eduard asked, entirely confused. He didn't know what he had done to be this blessed, he was free. Also, he could shoot this boy and leave nothing behind of his existence._

_Ivan smiled gently, his violet eyes bright and almost surreal, "All I ask is that you keep in mind that I could have left you for dead twice now, so that if we ever meet again, you might return the favor."_

"_But-."_

"_Go back to your family or return to your service, I have no say in what you do. Just remember my name."_

* * *

_He could see him, the one whom had always plagued his mind from that day but more than a year beforehand. The boy who gave him food and a gun, clothes to hide, free will to be whatever he wanted. He could see him, though vaguely through, being a machine gunner since returning to his military duties. It was The Battle of Auvere and he felt the promise returning to him. He had sworn to look out for the other in exchange for his own life. He could see another gunner aiming at the tall, young man, no more than seventeen. Fear was rising from his chest like bile from his gut as the man prepared to hit him. Without thinking further that to protect the man who had done the same for him, he fired his gun. He watched as the body fell to the ground. Luckily he did not get back up._

* * *

_The pain in his leg shot through his nerves and spine, numbing his brain, warm liquid gushing between his fingers as he held his wounded knee. The physical aguish was too much. He never realized that the gunshots had ceased and when he looked into the sky blue eyes, he couldn't even register the memory of where they had originated. His world faded, all there was was pain._

* * *

**A/N: So tell me what you guys think ^^ I worked really hard and I'm sorry about being MIA. T.T**


	7. Chapter Seven: Tensions

**A/N: Oh my gosh! Is it! Could it truly be! YES IT IS! I have FINALLY updated this thing! OTL I am SOOOO SORRY! Now, I want all of you to go to The Fujoshi on FF and give her all your love, because her story (ironically named 'I'm Not Loving It') gave me motivation to actually kick my ass into gear. So love her with all your heart. Without further adieu, CHAPTER 7!**

* * *

There were so many things he didn't know, so many things he wanted to know. Ivan kept so many things hidden from him, he wasn't open about everything and it was starting to upset Alfred. He understood that some things weren't happy memories that Ivan would love to talk about, but did that mean he didn't have a right to know? He had brought up his teacher's nighttime mutterings a grand total of once, not because he got an answer, but because the look in the elder man's eyes made him feel so guilty that he felt rather forced to back off from the subject. One couldn't blame him though; it riled up a bit of anger to hear another man's name on the Russian's lips. Who was Eduard anyway!

"Yo, Earth to Alfie?" a snappish voice cut into his thoughts. Blinking away the thoughts, he returned to see his lunch skewered and mashed all together. Ew; it did not look very appetizing. Looking up he saw his brother and Gilbert staring at him with raised brows. He totally forgot what they had been talking about before his mind started wandering.

"Damn it Al, you're so selfish sometimes!" Matthew growled, glaring at his brother with a weary eye. Honestly, Alfred had been ignoring him more and more since he got into a relationship with their teacher.

Gilbert snorted in a poor attempt of stifling a snicker, "You mean all the time, just more so since he thinks he's so grown up just because he fucked Mr. B."

"Excuse me?" Alfred's eyes narrowed.

Matthew slapped his forehead. Not only was his brother a total jerk, his boyfriend was equally stupid. "Gil . . . Cut the gas." Obediently, the albino hushed up, but kept his cheeky grin. "Alfred," Mattie continued, "We need to talk about this, but not here. Are you going to eat your . . . mush?"

Alfred frowned at his brother before standing up stiffly and throwing his ruined meal away and folding his arms, facing their table. Matthew sighed and followed after the other, giving a brief farewell to the irritating German at the table. Gilbert watched the two walk away in silence before disappearing out of the cafeteria. Great, now Gilbert was left all lonely and bored. He rested his head on the table and sighed. Why couldn't Mattie just be happy for Alfred, or better yet, Alfred act like the kid he was. Then people wouldn't be whispering about him.

"Excuse me, Gilbert?" a voice he knew only too well made him raise his head slightly. Damn it, why did it just have to be her!

"Yeah Liz?" he muttered, Elizabeta standing over him. She didn't even want him, and he didn't like her any more. He knew she was up to no good, especially with that conniving smile she wore. He would know it anywhere; he had inherited it from her after all.

Her hand gripped his shoulder, the manicured nails digging through the thin fabric of his summer shirt, "I couldn't help but overhear some crude, albeit interesting language over here at your table. Would you mind coming to my office and having a little chat with me?"

"You're fucking crazy," he pulled out of her bruising grasp, standing and walking away, "I've got nothing to say to you of all people. I do believe that the terms of you continuing to work at this school were that you would keep your hands to yourself." She watched him leave, glaring daggers at her _son_. He knew something and she wanted in on it. It had something to do with Ivan Braginsky and Alfred Bonnefoy and she would figure it out, with the help of her wretched child or not.

* * *

The two stood behind the classrooms, staring down each other, "Alfred, I've been trying to talk to you for a solid month now and every time I try to bring it up, I get cut off by something more important in your mind. Be it baseball practice or some other activity." The blue eyed twin stared at his brother, feeling extremely awkward. Mattie took a deep breath, "Alfie, I know about what's going on between you and you-know-who. I haven't told anyone but Gilbert, and he said he guessed as much. You don't ever really talk to me anymore. Where did my brother go?" He took the other's hand in his own and squeezed, catching the younger entirely off guard.

In all honesty, Alfred was ready to get a tongue-lashing, a skill Matthew inherited from their dad. He was also ready to argue and fight back, not get a lonely Mattie holding his hand and begging for attention. This was a new twist. "Mat . . . I-."

"And what the hell are you thinking! Do you _want_ to get Ivan arrested for pedophilia!" the lavender eyed Bonnefoy hissed under his breath.

Alfred frowned and retracted his arm and folded both over his chest, "Stupid age differences. He's only eleven years older, and what does it matter if I love him? I mean, I am perfect for him! He's so shy and childish really, and he's scared Mattie. He's scare being here, in this country, away from his sisters. And he doesn't even tell me this stuff, I have to sit and watch him to figure it out. I have to know him like a well-read book to know when he's worried or nervous and it is so annoying! He thinks I'm too immature, that I'm a child, and I know I don't understand everything but he could at least let it out!" Frustrated, he slumped to the ground, leaning on the side of the building, glaring as he watched the other students hang out in the distance before resting his arms on his propped up knees and hiding the lower half of his face. "If he'd let me, I could protect him. I mean, you know he's got the Royal Shaft."

"Alfred," Matthew sighed, sitting beside his moody twin, "I understand that you always have to be the hero or whatever, but it seems that he feels better when you're just with him. And I'm sure he can take care of himself, he is an adult."

The blue eyed boy glared at his brother from the courner of his eyes, "Don't remind me. But you know me Mattie, I have to protect everyone I care for. I have to always be there for them and I _have_ to be able to do something. He won't even let me try. I don't know what to think, does he not trust me? Does he just want to forget that stuff? I mean, he says the name of other men in his sleep! What am I supposed to think!"

"Well, he is older than us, and you need to be mature about this Al, so it does make sense that he would have past lovers, right?"

"And still dream about them?" Alfred hissed.

"Okay, I get what you mean," Matthew sighed and went back to thinking, "Well, I'm sure he still has memories about the war that are vivid, and he did say there were people he never saw again. It might be that he is reliving it in his dreams. Papa says Dad does that all the time. Remember the time Dad was asleep on the couch when we were little and he started muttering curse words in his sleep? Papa's face was priceless."

Alfred laughed a little, oh yes he remembered the scene well; "You have a point, but is it wrong for me to want to bug the hell out of him? I mean, I'm real gone for him. I want him to be my everything and I want to always be with him and this is starting to become a sticky, gooey rant. Ew." The two laughed and spent the rest of the lunch against the wall watching the other kids hang.

"So you really love him."

"Not a doubt in my mind."

"So no fast girls?" Mattie joked.

Alfred shook his head, a dreamy smile gracing his features, "Nope, I'm jacketed."

Matthew looked over his brother before suddenly tackling him to the concrete, trying to dig his knuckled into the other's scalp, laughing and whining. "Al you kookie odd-ball!" he chuckled as his brother wailed for a truce.

* * *

Her nails dug into his scalp as she pulled back his head to force the violet to meet her blazing green irises. She hated him, everything about him. The way he took everything she came at him with and how he made her feel downright evil. It was just his Red mind tricks at work to make him back off, but they were getting stronger. As it way, tears were pooling at the courners of his eyes, silently begging for release of her bruising hold. She almost did too, until she remembered who he was; _what_ he was. As a Communist, she could never be certain what he was planning. Even if his hands lay in his lap, twitching to perform the instinctual task of prying her hand off, she didn't trust him a bit, but if he lashed back she could get him on assault.

"I know what you're trying to do," he hissed into his ear, "Trying to be innocent, be a victim, and all you're planning to do is destroy what peace we have here. And picking on the Bonnefoy family; lying to their faces and making them feel safe with the likes of you. I cannot imagine how you live with yourself. Perhaps your kind truly has no conscious."

A whine was smothered in his throat as her hand twisted, "Ms. Héderváry, I-I have a class in a moment . . ." His voice was soft, though the tremors were easily discernable. As if to prove a point, the bell rang for the end of the lunch period. She released his ashen hair, her blood boiling. He stood and gave a timid smile; his sister always insisted he treated even those who hated him with kindness. He could hear the teenagers gathering outside the closed door, even hear muffled questioning voices. He always had his door open after lunch, though it was obvious why he didn't have the luxury today. Her hand lashed out, slapping the young man across the face for good measure.

"I will have you removed from the town, just watch me," she hissed before her heels clacked away, sharp as her tongue. She pushed herself through the door and the hall filled with _his_ students went quiet. Even a blind person could tell that she was not in a mood to be addressed. Gilbert glared at the woman as she passed as the students watched her.

"Children," Ivan's voice called them back, "Come and take your seats. We have much to go over today." Alfred heard the stress in his voice, and was the first through the door to see his beloved teacher. Anger gripped his chest, absolute rage and a crushing pain. His blue eyes honed in on the three nail marks that cut into the soft skin of his cheek, slender tendrils of blood mixing. He wasn't the only student either; there was absolute silence in the classroom as everyone stood at the door. Ivan looked at them questioningly before his hand flew to where he had been slapped, pulling back with thin sheen of scarlet. He blinked in surprise before smiling reassuringly, "It is nothing a band-aid cannot fix. Take your seats everyone, it's fine."

* * *

"Boys," Arthur broached on the drive back home, "Are you two feeling well? You've been silent this entire time."

Before Matthew could divert the conversation, Alfred snapped at the bait, "Yes there's something wrong! Why can't Ms. Héderváry leave Ivan alone! What is her problem, why does she hate him so much? What did he ever do to that hag? Do you know she hit him today, right before class too? He was bleeding from her banshee nails!"

Arthur's eyes widened at the news. He knew Elizabeta was, to put it nicely, conservative, that was taking it too far. To hit the poor man when he's only trying to do his job, what was she thinking? Especially with how upset the twins were, and Alfred was obviously infuriated over the event. In effect, it upset Arthur twice as much. "I will call Ludwig on the matter. The bloody hell does that woman think she's doing?"

* * *

The last week of school had been so very calm, especially after that scenario the week before. Ivan smiled as the teenagers in his class talked happily with each other, many coming up and wishing him a happy summer. Some even bringing presents for him, mostly food. He sat on his desk and Alfred beside him, pressed snuggly to his side. He liked seeing Ivan without his scarf all the time, it made him look more open. Their hands were discreetly placed on one another behind their bodies, since no one was allowed behind the teacher's desk anyway. It was only the first period and so much energy in one sitting was absolutely exhilarating. Mornings with Ivan were always pleasant, but the hyper levels were bouncing off the charts.

"Dad and Papa wanted to invite you to a picnic next week, Gilbert and his dad are going to be there too and everything is going to be awesome," Alfred explained cheerfully before looking to his teacher, "And I'll be graduating this time next year."

Ivan smiled and hummed in contentment, "But not until your eighteenth birthday."

"And I will be getting awesome birthday s-."

"Mr. Braginsky," the small Swiss girl said sweetly, holing a box with a ribbon tied around it, "I made these for you. I hope you have a wonderful summer."

Ivan detached himself from Alfred and took the box from the blonde girl, "Thank you very much Lily. I hope you enjoy your summer as well." She giggled and gave him a quick hug, all the girls did and it was rather irritating to Alfred that he couldn't do the same in public without getting those weird stares his parents got whenever they left the safety of their town on trips and such. Of course, it would be weird for Ivan too, since he had to play the role of an adult at school. The girl retreated and Ivan placed the box on the desk behind him before the two returned to their previous position.

"Alfred," Ivan scolded lightly, "we don't talk about that _here_."

Alfred waved it off, "I know, I know. I got carried away. But you know what I mean."

"Of course I do," Ivan teased, pinching the teenager's wrist playfully, "And yes. You will get a present for your birthday." The bell rang and the students all waved farewell as they left to their next class. Before the next class arrived, Alfred cupped Ivan's chin between his fingers and gave him a delicate kiss on the lips. Ivan's eyes fluttered closed and they shared the moment.

A feeling crept up Alfred's spine as it slowly deepened, the chance of getting caught was so tempting, "Ivan," he panted, pulling close only to be pushed back.

"You have class," Ivan sighed, panting as well.

Groaning Alfred jumped off the desk and grabbed his bag before turning back at the door, "When though? You suddenly became prude!" A book flew toward the American as he ducked behind the door laughing, "I got it, I got it! I'm going!"


	8. Announcement

Hello, you may have figured I must have died eons ago. No updates in over a year almost, nothing quite substantial. I apologize. Many of my stories are being discontinued for various reasons, mainly because my sense of literary refinement that has developed over time no longer allows me to continue due to their poor quality. Of this list includes:

_A House Divided_

_Loving It_

_Singing Through Bars_

_Song of the Century_

_Bewitched_

_The Cage_

_Not Like You_

_Fallen Heart_

* * *

However, I have not quit. Over this extended period of absence, I have been outlining remakes of certain stories that deserve better and/or more.

_Waving Flag_

_Don't Leave Me Here_

_In this Diary_

_One of Nothing_

_Code Geass_

Please be patient, I will soon have a first chapter out for my new work within the next month or two. I sincerely apologize. From now on, I will carefully plan works and not start too many that I cannot finish. Here are some peeks at the new, refined, mature style you will be getting soon.

* * *

_Dance Among the Loti _(Waving Flag Remake)

"Many things fade," he spoke in a near whisper, his voice heavy with weariness, as though he carried some invisible weight, "Youth, beauty, good friends, even memories. Eventually, even the fact that once we existed tapers off to a mere whimsy of a person glancing at a name upon a gravestone, realizing it means nothing to them."

* * *

_Crimson Tears of Lost Souls _(Don't Leave Me Here Remake)

Gunfire rained around me, seeming to bounce off the fog itself; it was thick enough, so I couldn't say I would have been surprised had that really been the case. It came from all sides, from out of the dismal gray, screams and distorted commands drowned out in the orchestra of explosions. Now and then, from the corner of my eye, I could just make out dark figures in the distance before they slipped just out of view. Sweat beaded under the helmet, rolling down my brow and the bridge of my nose, despite the chill of the bog. I made to swipe it as a figure appeared, this one staying. Rolling my shoulders, lifting the rifle that seemed to suddenly gain another twenty pounds, I took aim. Something was very wrong, he walked with a wide stance and appeared unarmed, shuffling right past me, seemingly more interested in something else, not even noting my existence. The second I tightened my hold around the trigger, a cold sense of dread filled me; I knew immediately I had made a terrible mistake.

* * *

I hope you will come and see my new works as they come out and continue supporting me and them. I hope to entertain you on an entirely new level than the works you have seen so far. Thank you.


End file.
